


Flight of the Valkyrie

by Celticfeather



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Eastern Front, F/M, Historic Hetalia, Holocaust, WWII, World War Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-08 17:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 207,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12869790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticfeather/pseuds/Celticfeather
Summary: As the icy talons of the Red army curl around the eastern front of Europe in late 1944, Nazi Party member Gilbert Beilschmidt finds himself working as an SS guard at the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp with his brother. There he encounters a fascinatingly –albeit foolishly- defiant Hungarian dissident by the name of Elizabeta Héderváry who slowly threatens to change his views. If they decide they would rather have love than war, they'd better figure out how not to die. WWII AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> December 1, 2017. This is a revised version of "Flight of the Valkyrie," a sweeping historical fanfiction I began writing four years ago on Fanfiction.net. Out of embarrassment of my past, I have decided to improve its writing, content, and reflect the historic setting as I've visited these places. It's bloody, exhilarating, and I hope you learn something from it.

 

**_A note from the author:_ **

The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya 日丸屋 秀和

Rated for harsh language, Nazism, violence, death.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"Number?" the Prussian asked rotely.

"154908," the response came. He wrote it down and pointed left, signaling for the next person.

"Number?" he asked again.

"159821."

"Number?"

"Héderváry Elizabeta."

It was a female's voice, doubtlessly a Hungarian, as like orientals the Hungarians placed their family names first. Gilbert looked up from his clipboard, clacking his pen irritably a single time on its hard wooden edge.

"I asked for your number, girl, not your name. You would do best to do as I command."

The fierce-eyed man cut off his sentence as he looked to appraise the girl standing in line before him. Her own ferocity met him, his surprise quenching the heat in his glare if only for a moment. Her uniform lacked the yellow triangle of the Jews, but instead produced the U of Hungary, and a notorious red triangle. The mark of notoriety seemed out of place on such a small looking woman. _Her country is allies with Germany. She's no Jew, unless she's a political, a communist or criminal, what the hell is she doing here?_

He narrowed his eyes distastefully.

"Arm," he instructed.

'Elizabeta' did so from where she stood a few paces in front of him. The number 152070 was tattooed on the pale underside of her forearm. She stared at the SS defiantly, lifting up her chin, exposing her most vulnerable area as if daring him to pull out a weapon.

"Go," he dismissed her after scrawling her number down on the sheet, trying his best to ignore her obvious challenge. His right arm felt the comfortingly familiar tug towards the strap of the rifle on his back. But his supervisor was watching, not that the jerk would mind, but shooting someone at the front of the line creates panic, and makes the task more difficult. "Next."

Gilbert succeeded in holding the façade of one who did not care, but he kept careful note of the barrack number's area the Hungarian would be sleeping at that he had marked down on his page. It was in Birkenau, a few kilometers away, in the female section of the second camp's complex. He would not let this curious girl's insult escape from him.

**XXXX**

"A long week, done." It was his brother Ludwig who spoke.

"Right." Gilbert answered. He took a long drag from the stein, gray clay rather than glass, and observed the foamy haze of bubbles on the inside settle from white to amber.

The two German brothers sat at a bar, the German officer's club, actually, as Ludwig had insisted, although Gilbert personally preferred the cabarets. The two were probably each on their fifth or sixth beers after receiving their leave from Auschwitz earlier that afternoon. Not that they had paid for half of it: the pair were in their SS Nazi uniforms. Between all of the civilian Polish girls fawning over them and the favor of the bartender Gilbert expected they could get completely smashed before the end of the night without spending a mark each. The people here outside the exclusion zone were sympathetic to the Nazis, and hated Jews. Or at least pretended they were.

"Which of the girls do you want to take back to the rooms tonight, Gil?" Ludwig asked in a rare moment of lightheartedness. Ludwig was always in such a nicer mood when he wasn't sober. He would probably shoot someone by tomorrow.

"Not in the mood tonight, Lud. Take the lot of these whores to yourself this time around."

Ludwig looked at him oddly. "What's gotten into you."

"Just tired."

Gilbert had been extra nice to his younger brother lately for landing him the job at Auschwitz. It paid similarly to their previous frontline waffen-SS work, and here he was much less likely to be killed. The SS lacked the honor of the Luftwaffe, which of course only meant that the chances of a serviceman being killed in under a month were minimal, but most people's perceptions of honor were distorted anyway. Honor was the strength to sacrifice yourself and others to achieve something higher; which was what they did. Breaking off a few fingers every once in a while was merely an added perk. Ludwig served the perfect model for the Nazi party. Genetically and mentally. He graduated Gymnasium with top marks, didn't scoff at his superiors like Gilbert and always followed orders with precision and even enthusiasm. The younger had quickly gained favor with his superiors and risen through the ranks; spreading his benevolent -yet intimidating- influence to land his imperfect brother a good job.

Ludwig noticed his brother's silence and smiled knowingly. "I revise my statement. _Who_ has gotten in to you?" the younger man nudged him with his elbow. "I know you well enough. I bet it's a woman."

"How did you know?"

"Well, if it was a _boy_ I'd have to turn you in myself!" Ludwig chuckled, landing his hand down on the counter and accepting another beer from the bartender.

Gilbert was usually secretive with his more subtle emotions, but the heavy lagers had loosened his tongue.

"I saw a strange girl at the camp today." Gilbert spoke coolly.

Ludwig made no attempt to hide his confusion. But he was calm, for certainly Gilbert did not mean...

"A Gentile," he clarified. "She dared me to kill her. But I didn't, she was still quite beautiful. There are so few beautiful women here."

"You're fawning after some piece of walking-dead criminal trash you found at the camps," Ludwig scoffed. "You'd be better off with a blonde Polish whore."

"I can't like her," Gilbert snapped. Revolting. "I just don't want to play Casanova with bar whores tonight."

Upon hearing this, Ludwig's lips pressed into a firm line. He thought something, a curious glint in his cerulean eyes beyond his years. But whatever it was he wouldn't let Gilbert decipher it. The younger brother nodded apologetically.

"What do you say we finish up here," Ludwig offered, in his form of an armistice.

The elder nodded blankly, his tone sounding out of place after his previous outburst. He took a long draw to finish his beer. But the good thing about Ludwig was that he was quick to move on. "Yes, that sounds good. But can I ask you a favor?" Gilbert voiced.

Ludwig's brows rose approvingly.

"Can your charms to transfer me to oversee in the women's section? In the Southwestern part of Birkenau?" he asked.

**XXXX**

Gilbert and Ludwig awoke at the SS quarters early several mornings later. Gilbert was well aware of his brother's high up position in the organization and could pull a few strings. Ludwig didn't care much exactly where he worked, as long as he knew what to do and could do it his way, so he went with his brother. To keep an eye on the arrogant albino from scuffing the family name with his antics, more likely.

"How do I look, Lud?"

Gilbert stood in front of the tall mirror in full uniform. He thought he was a handsome one. The black of his SS uniform was so dark that the fabric almost held a blueish sheen. The collar was long and crisp against his pale throat, adorned with an iron cross on the knot of the tie, which disappeared neatly into his collar. The vividly-colored military decorations on his chest caught the light. The red and white of his armband matched his eyes and face. But he felt the burning heat of something he had slipped into his coat a few minutes before close on his chest before arriving at the railway in to camp. Gilbert studied his cap for a moment; a small metal eagle was on the top clutching a swastika. Beneath that was a Deadhead -a Totenkopf- the pirate esque skull and crossbones that adorned every SS hat. Gil found the skull a bit melodramatic, he liked the eagle better. He had always held a fondness for eagles.

But Ludwig just yawned. "The same you do every day for work?"

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Elizabeta realized she was lucky enough to be assigned work that wasn't too laborious. The last few days she and most of her block were sewing little Nazi flags together, each only about a dozen centimeters long. Whenever the Kapos weren't looking she and her acquaintances would purposefully sew the tiny swastikas on backwards, or at some awkward angle, and toss it into the finished bin. It was their bit of entertainment that kept the Hungarians going on through the day.

Most of the veteran prisoners warned her and her blockmates against this, and then distanced themselves into a position where they wouldn't have to even see it. They had seen people shot on the spot when caught, and the people next to them too. But Eliza realized early on that it was this ever-present hatred that kept her from capitulating. It kept that dull blackness from her eyes. She didn't want to end up shattered of mind like some of the broken prisoners, only a week or two down the line from her, who would sell them out for a roll of stale bread. Here there wasn't even real bread; half of the flour was thinned with sawdust. Were they so worthless that the damned Nazis wouldn't even give them real food? She wasn't a cow, she couldn't eat such high concentrations of cellulose and expect to work such long hours.

Elizabeta knew, however, that no matter what she did to keep her mind in good condition, her body would break down even faster. And in a few weeks she might just end up selling her soul to appease her hunger anyway.

But now, for the moment, she was free. As free as one could get in Birkenau. It was a Sunday, after lunch, and due to some mistake some poor unfortunate soul had made she was left milling around with a few dozen other prisoners for twenty minutes in the courtyard. She decided to stretch her legs and found herself looking between the buildings outside. The sun streamed down, but the place was anything but beautiful. Not a single blade of green was within a hundred meters of where she stood. Just gray barbwire, brown huts, and gray earth. If she could call it that. For she knew, they all knew, the gray matter of the ground was not earth.

"Elizabeta Héderváry."

The sudden High German sent chills down her spine. She looked around. She was behind the wall of a building in the shadows, not in the line of sight of anyone.

"Good to see you're still alive with that attitude problem of yours. But you invite bad company when you are alone."

More German. A nasty, throaty, barbaric tongue of which Elizabeta possessed no desire to hear. Whoever it was must have been arrogant to assume that she understood him so well, though the SS would speak no other language to a prisoner, even if they could. When Eliza turned to face the voice she was met with the white hair and hard red eyes of a demon. A very pale demon. He wore the standard deep black SS uniform. A rifle was strapped over his back, a pistol on his hip, a riding crop, and a long black dagger glinted in its sheath on the other. He flashed her a smile that would make a shark run for cover. The female returned his stare evenly, her chin lowered slightly, knowing in the fact the he had used no name rather than 'Prisoner number 152070' that this was not a formal affair. She hid her fear and met the stranger's gaze as evenly as she dared.

"What do you want?" She added on a 'sir' a half second later. It was late, but perhaps enough to save her punishment. She had nothing but disdain for any German soldier.

"Don't be so rash, I only meant to ask you a personal question," the guard purred. His voice was the low croon of a snake. The words were layered with smooth honey, but Elizabeta was not deceived by its sweetness. She pressed her lips together and stared up into his eyes to prevent herself from spitting on his boots. She took a step back. She valued her life just slightly enough to give him an excuse other than mere rudeness to kill her outright.

"Your German is good," the guard added.

"A personal question, you certainly have a file on me. Give me a reason why I should answer it." she returned.

The guard's arms strayed toward the crop on his belt with a smile, and chuckled upon noticing Eliza's subsequent suppressed grimace. Much to his apparent amusement, instead of continuing towards the crop, he made a show of reaching his hand inside the lapel of his black coat. "Worry not, girl. I have a present for you."

He pulled out a still warm fist-sized loaf of bread and displayed it to her. "Just one little question."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow. "Deal. What do you want to know?"

"All you have to do is tell me why you are here."

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

He let the question hang out in the air for added suspense, dangling the bread out in front of the Hungarian's nose. She restrained herself from snatching it outright, but the look of wanting in her verdant eyes was unmistakable. Gilbert grinned.

Elizabeta relaxed. He could tell she was half expecting to have to make up some fake information involving some non-existent plot to explode the showering quarters. "You've just got to give me immunity, and the bread."

"A man of my word I am. Continue as you like." Gilbert ordered.

"I was sent here as a political dissident." she said. "Supposedly I worked in the Budapest Underground."

The Prussian raised an eyebrow. His three marks for real bread was worth more than a 'supposedly.'

"I acted up against your stupid fascism a bit too loud for the taste of Hungary. Passing around underground newspapers and such. After a few years it caught up with me. I've heard about what you little Hitler Youth boys do in Germany; turning in their own family members who question the Nazi party to their scoutmasters and teachers just to move up in the ranks. It's ridiculous, how weak you are. It's like you can't think for yourselves, following that mustached madman off a cliff like a bunch of startled lemmings. But here I am turned in by a Hungarian, in the slaughterhouse anyway. Staring down the pistol of some red eyed devil whose name I don't even know. You Nazis turned on your own people with rifles raised…"

The Hungarian paused, looking up at him with an unreadable expression.

"Just like mine did."

Gilbert studied her in silence for a moment, debating as to whether this story was true or if she said it just to attempt to defy him. It would explain why she was still in good health, had she been living in a Jewish ghetto for weeks before being transported here she would weigh ten kilos less than she was right now. And not half as defiant. That would have been beaten out of her.

"Take the bread," the Prussian said gruffly, tossing it, which she caught clumsily against her chest.

She restrained herself from showing weakness from tearing up the small morsel right then and there. She looked at him stonily. "If you have any other 'questions,' ask. I'll be happy to answer anything else you want to know.… _After a trip to the baker, of course."_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"What wanting with only one small roll of bread? Certainly I can do yet more for you, sir?" the Polish baker said in his bad German.

"No. That will be all. Make sure it's fresh."

The baker quickly put together the Prussian's request, eager to get the fully armed and uniformed Nazi out of his bakery. "Have you a good day."

With military precision, Gilbert stalked out of the door. His departure was announced by a slight chime rusted metal, before he felt his taller brother at his side. The cold Polish autumn breeze blew into Gilbert's silvery hair, but the Prussian didn't particularly care. He enjoyed the cold weather.

"Nothing for me this time," the blond fondled the bag briefly and scowled. "You've got to have only a single piece of bread in there. You saving up money for something? I could get us more cards, if you're concerned." Ludwig said.

"Just trying to trim down a bit, that's all."

The taller blond laughed. " _Right._ In a war."

"Guard work is easier than front lines."

Gilbert lightly punched Ludwig in the stomach and danced away out of reach before his brother could launch a counterattack. "Come on, _fatty_." The pair of brothers chortled boisterously down the road, attracting the stares of numerous concerned Polish civilians.

The two quarreling brothers at the platform to the railway station to take them from Oświęcim into the camp. Waiting there Gilbert appraised a slim dark form on the track. Roderich Edelstein, who worked in the same division, must have also had leave. Roderich looked somewhat disdainfully upon the two as they sauntered in, mumbling something in his rich cowboy dialect about how acting so while in uniform was a disgrace. Gilbert didn't like the Austrian much, but Ludwig seemed to like him. So out of respect for his brother when he was around, Gilbert decided he would at least tolerate Roderich.

"Hello Roderich, a fine morning, " his brother greeted politely.

"Yes… it would be," the Austrian sighed. "But I was up all night practicing, I am hardly awake today."

Ludwig just nodded amiably, returning to his usually staid silence around people who he wasn't close friends with. Gilbert on the other hand had to hide a snort of contempt. He was vaguely aware the Austrian owned a violin or something. _How did such a snob get in the SS anyway?_ He thought. _Probably because of his strict sense of hierarchy and discipline,_ Gilbert's noted to himself. That was more than could be said for himself.

The three stepped into the train, greeting the other Birkenau overseers with abbreviated salutes. When Ludwig and Roderich turned their heads towards the window after procuring a few seats, Gilbert quietly slipped the roll from the paper bag and slid it inside his jacket.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

She felt as if the very sinews in her hand were decomposing. Sewing by hand each and every day was harder work than it looked. Her hands were twitchy and so was her breathing. She briefly wondered if it would be worth conditioning herself to learn to sew with her left hand, but was afraid that if the decline in her work quality was too noticeable she would be singled out and… _Replaced._ The guards couldn't track which workers were sewing the swastikas on incorrectly if it was only three or four defects in every hundred, but they'd certainly be able to tell if one's whole workload was sloppy. And that worker would be terminated without thought nor remorse.

Eliza suddenly felt a presence behind her.

"It appears to me…" a low voice trailed off. It was calm and nonthreatening, almost musical. "That the points of this swastika are facing backwards..."

The female's blood ran cold. What? She hadn't even meant to… Not this time at least! She always did it when the Kapos changed shifts. Had she been distracted and placed it wrong? She felt her friends seated around her stop what they were doing and stare at her with wide eyes. Some wild thing fluttering inside her chest hoped – _desperately, foolishly, hoped_ \- that it was the red eyed guard that she had acquaintance herself with before. Any guard could kill her, Red Eyes included, but it was likely only he would spare her. Even if for his own foolish amusement at having his very own pet prisoner groveling at his ash covered boots.

But when she turned, it was not him who she met.

It was officer Edelstein. And he had just clicked his pistol.


	3. Chapter 3

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

She felt the cold, cylindrical barrel of the revolver press against the base of her skull as she was roughly tugged upward.

"Outside. Now."

The Hungarian stood up as she was ordered, her face a pale mask of dread. Even the Kapos feared their mistake. The workroom had fallen silent, and all of the other people in the room stared at her petrified. They did nothing, and Eliza could not blame them.

As she rounded the table, she risked a glance at the hand that held the gun that moved her along. Underneath the black leather gloves the hand bore the long tapered fingers of a student or an artist, not the rectangular laborer's fingers that belonged to the bulk of the SS.

The door was held open by a smirking subordinate guard who saluted at her shepherd before sending Eliza a knowing and cruel smile. He knew what was about to happen. Her skull was going to be splattered against the cement, and he was going to enjoy watching it. Elizabeta couldn't help but raise her lip in a defiant snarl as she passed the lower ranking guard. _I refuse to give you entertainment, fascist bastard,_ she thought.

She felt herself being ushered on to the cold edge of the Appellplatz and turned to face her guard.

"Halt. Here shall suffice." the guard commanded almost apathetically.

She turned and eyed him evenly. There was no sense being submissive if she knew she going to die anyway. He was about her height, with clear skin and soft dark hair with strange, almost violet, shadowy eyes. Had he been any other person she probably would have thought him handsome. His build was thin and lean. She had fought boys tougher than him back when she was a kid.

_I bet I could take him._

She corrected herself.

If I haven't been starving for two weeks and he wasn't armed to the teeth.

On that dystopian thought Elizabeta looked around, at the gray sky, at the wooden huts, and noticed a small piece of cement that had come loose from the plaza beneath her. Perhaps if she pretended to trip, she could scoop it up and bash his skull in before he could fire. Elizabeta knew she would be killed anyway. Probably that whole building, too. But they were already dead, and there would be one less Nazi in the world.

"Any last words?" he drawled boredly.

_"Baszd meg."_

Perhaps he understood her, because the officer's shiny black boot kicked her fiercely to the ground, and Elizabeta landed on bloodied palms and knees. She had less than a second and a half to act as the gun was raised above her head. With the animal grace of the staved she rolled to the side, her right arm reaching to pluck away the loose shard of cement.

Right before a black boot mercilessly crushed her outstretched wrist.

* * *

 

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"Tsk Tsk. Now what do we have here?" he asked.

The black suited Prussian slowly lifted his heel from Elizabeta's wrist, displaying his trademark shark smile. He had walked up on the Austrian when he saw him drag out Elizabeta when on patrol at a nearby building. The two had been so absorbed that they had not noticed him. Not that an execution wasn't completely attention consuming to either side. In very different ways, of course.

Roderich's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Idiot. What does it look like I'm doing!"

The Prussian cut him off with a vicious glare. "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to the girl. Look what's in her hand."

Roderich followed his gaze to Elizabeta's hand, which was paralyzed with pain and half closed around a large jagged cement shard. The Austrian inhaled quickly with realization.

"The little slut was trying to attack me!" Roderich exclaimed, disgusted, even though he was about to kill her.

"No doubt I just saved your life," the Prussian replied smoothly.

Roderich, however, was less composed. "She should be hanged publicly!" he stammered, completely overcome with rage. "Rip her nails out! Her _ribs_ out! We need to make an example of her!"

Gilbert nodded, closing his eyes. "You're right. She'll die. But not now. Do you have any idea when the next shipment of Hungarians are coming in?" he asked rhetorically.

 Roderich narrowed his eyes hostily. "Day after tomorrow?"

"Two weeks from now. All the Kapos we've trained over here speak Hungarian, we can't put in another group. We won't be able to replace any we've lost for another two until the next ones are here, which is much longer than usual, considering most Jews only last two weeks. That would be detrimental to our workload and we're already much behind schedule," Gilbert said.

"People are dying every day. How is one more to make a difference? And she's the one who has been sewing the flags backwards!" the Austrian exclaimed.

"The sick and weak are the ones dying, who weren't contributing much anyway. We need all the strong we have to work since this time they won't be replaced in a while."

"She'll be disciplined," Roderich growled.

"And she shall be," Gilbert said plainly. "Now get back to your post. In your absence a half dozen of our flags have probably been disgraced. " he commanded.

The Austrian glared at Gilbert, perhaps angered by the crudeness of his order. But Roderich eventually holstered his pistol and started pacing back in the direction of the building. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, violet eyes flashing with curiosity. "How are you going to do it?"

In a single fluid motion, Gilbert unhooked the crop from his belt and swung it with the full force of his well-muscled arm against the nearest brick wall. A shower dust of red stone chips flew from the impact, and a loud FFWRRUKK cursed the plaza with its harsh resonance like the crack of a thunderbolt. Elizabeta cringed beneath him at the sound.

"I think I can handle it," he said simply.

* * *

 

**A/N**

The Appellplatz was a cement plaza outside where the roll call was taken for the prisoners. It is derived from the German word for "roll call" (Appell) and "place" (Platz). Prisoners had to wait here every day at 4:00 am and be counted no matter what the weather in their thin uniforms. It often took hours, even more if there was a miscount.


	4. Chapter 4

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Eliza winced as the Prussian slammed the head of his weapon on the wall with a swing of his arm, sending a shower of chalky red and black chips scattering at her feet. Eliza had crawled up from her vulnerable position on the ground and knelt, cradling the wrist he had shattered in her lap. Her malachite gaze traced the Austrian's hasty retreat back into the work building, and before she knew it she was left in the uncomfortable silence alone with her tormentor.

Eventually, Elizabeta gained the courage to speak. "Why did you do that?" she asked, obviously referring to what he had said to the Austrian Officer Edelstein when he had interfered, rather than his most recent action of slamming his weapon against the wall in a threatening display of his intentions.

"I just saved your life, that's what," he hissed. "Even _if_ your scrawny hide managed to take down a full grown man with that stupid plan of yours, you would have been killed anyway. And much more slowly and dishonorably than a mere bullet to the head, so be grateful. Come with me."

The SS reinforced his command with a glare. She expected him to lead the way, but he made her walk in front of him, like a cattle. He ushered her behind a wall, she presumed so less people could see them.

"Why did you step in?" she asked. Her adrenaline had pushed her long since the point of where she was worried with disrespecting him by such a blunt question. "Even _I_ don't believe that nonsense you spouted about needing to keep us prisoners alive."

"Don't ask why," he snarled sternly, roughly pulling her up off the wall by her collar and locking his fierce scarlet eyes with hers. He was probably keeping her alive in hopes of sex, or like some soldier starved of companionship he wanted a friend. She frowned silently, and quickly avoided his intimidating gaze by turning to the side.

"The other guards will get suspicious if they hear about this and you're not beat to hell." He held the crop gingerly in one hand. He thumbed it curiously, staring at it with a strange expression.

And passed it to the Hungarian.

"Hit yourself. Hard. On your right arm where they might see the bruise, might as well damage the part of you that won't be working for a while anyway." he ordered, glancing sternly at her crushed wrist. "Remember to scream."

Eliza looked at him, shocked he would not even strike her himself. After even attempting to murder one of his co-officers? Eliza traced a shaky finger along the shaft of the whip-like weapon, as if touching the vile thing fully would disease her. It was a tool for animals, horses, with hides and muscles much stronger than hers. She wondered how many others had been maimed with the thing. How many had even been killed by it in their weakened state.

She raised the weapon above herself and grimaced. The crop's tip quivered in anticipation for blood above her vulnerable flesh. But her grip faltered, she knew she was too weak to hurt herself, and she stopped.

"I won't." she murmured. This felt like a mistake. "I appreciate what you are doing…. Yet…" her voice trailed off as she sensed his disapproval radiating off him in waves. He looked down at her disdainfully, his silver brows low on his stony face, his lips a placid line.

"I didn't think you'd be this weak, Elizabeta." he sighed calmly, taking the black weapon back. His peaked cap was drawn low over his eyes, casting angular black shadows over eerily moon hued skin. She couldn't see his expression. His white eyelashes swept low over blackish-red eyes.

Without warning, the Prussian's legs parted slightly on the ground. His knees locked firm in their positions as he wielded the weapon in one thick arm above his head. "I'll hit a lot harder than you."

With the swiftness of a panther's strike the guard brought the tail of the crop down upon the meat of her upper right arm. Elizabeta did not have to fake a loud scream- it was completely genuine. Tears pooled from her emerald eyes as her un-mauled hand raced to cover the area that had been struck, and stem the flow of blood that begun to pool under the surface of her skin as her veins and capillaries were ruptured from the force of the blow. When her shock eventually ceased, she fixed the strange eyed guard with a fierce betrayed expression, but felt guilty as soon as she released it. She knew full well she was in the man's debt.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert slowly stowed the crop back in its niche on his belt. He knelt down next to the crying woman against the wall. He did not apologize or soothe her. He did not say anything at first, he knew misconceptions arose from language. He sat there for a few moments in silence, Elizabeta refusing to look at him. Slowly, as not to startle her, he reached a gloved hand inside his jacket.

"I brought this for you again, just in case I ran in to you. Shame it happened to be like this." He placed the roll of bread he got from the baker earlier that morning carefully in her left hand. "I shouldn't be rewarding you for your rebellion. Sew the flags right next time, and try to stay alive."

He fixed his uniform and pressed his hands against the ground, preparing to stand up.

"What do you want," the woman whispered, staring first at the bread, and then at him. "Sex? A friend? A spy?"

Silent, Gilbert began to leave.

"Wait."

Gilbert stopped.

"I never got your name. Will you tell me?" she asked.

The black suited male found himself initially surprised by this question. But eventually decided he should tell her. "SS Sturmmann Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Elizabeta stood up and looked him in the eye. "I won't give you bread, but maybe I can reward you for answering my question some other way."

She leaned over and lightly breathed a kiss atop of the sitting guard's soft silvery hair. With the strong stride of long legs she vanished around the corner of the brick wall, her jacket flourishing gently behind her, leaving Gilbert to sit on the ashy ground alone with his confusion.


	5. Chapter 5

**-Roderich Edelstein-**

"Oh come now, I simply had to take you out to thank you for what you did yesterday!" Roderich exclaimed.

"Considering how much we can drink, not the best idea on your part, Roderich." Gilbert said with a laugh. The three men seated at the counter of the bar as the Austrian insisted. Roderich was quite relieved that the older north German was already too buzzed to give him his usual cold shoulder.

"I like to save my money. But I know how to be grateful when the time comes too," Roderich said.

"What exactly happened?" Ludwig asked, sitting on the other side of his brother.

The Austrian looked over at Gilbert expectantly, assuming that the man wouldn't refuse the chance to brag about his habitually proclaimed awesomeness, but he said nothing and took another swig from his stein. Roderich filled the silence.

"You've heard about how in my division some of the prisoners have been sewing the swastikas on the flags funny?" Roderich started.

"Happens," Ludwig ceded around his beer.

"I caught a Hungarian girl in the act of doing it. So I take her outside to _….. remove_ the problem _._ But when I had her on the ground and was about to shoot, she breaks this piece of loose concrete off the Appellplatz and tries to beat me on the head with it!"

Ludwig burst into a fit of drunken laughter, even though Roderich hadn't even gotten to the climax of the story yet. "That heavy Sturmgewehr that you strap across your back every day has a purpose too! No need for that dainty little officer's pistol you favor so much, this whole thing never would have had the time to happen if you just went with the big guns first!"

"Well I guess that's true… but that's not all of it. Gilbert suddenly comes out of nowhere from behind me and smashes her wrist with his boot before she even gets the rock off the ground! She was such a fast one, Gil probably saved me a trip to hospital."

Ludwig broke into his drunken laughter again, before swinging his arm around his brother's shoulders. "A true hero!"

The rest of the bar who had been eavesdropping, for how couldn't they, when someone talks so loud, already quite drunk themselves by this hour, started congratulating the young Nazi with rough pats on the back. That was how it was in these Polish towns near the camps, the Reich made sure the population consisted predominantly of Nazi sympathizers, with scattered acts of sabotage.

But Roderich was not done. "And I wouldn't take you all out without some good news of my own to share with you, Gilbert! I don't know where you got your information from, about the next shipment of Hungarians coming in several weeks?" the Austrian lightly nudged Gilbert with his shoulder before speaking lowly to the Prussian _"maybe your brother was a little intoxicated when he fed you that information, hm?"_ and broke out into a small chuckle at his own drunk-Ludwig joke. Ludwig sobered immediately and scowled.

"But it's not true," he continued "I heard from one of the commanders that new ones were coming in on Saturday, and we were performing a selection tomorrow on Friday! I'm good friends with one of the doctors, and I volunteered to be one of the on duty guards. All I have to do is point her out to him and she'll be off to the showers!"

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"I don't care how you do it, just make sure he's not at work on Friday, okay? Tie him up on a telegraph pole with his own stupid piano wire and smash expensive Italian violins on the asphalt right in front of his face. Do whatever you want. Have fun, I don't care, just make sure he's gone for the day!" Gilbert demanded, angrily pacing the room in the guard's barracks he and Ludwig shared. Ludwig was sitting on his cot.

The younger blonde eyed him warily. "So.. it's true... The defiant Hungarian girl you mentioned on that first night at the bar …. She was the same one Roderich tried to kill."

"Yes." Gilbert said.

"And you…?"

"I… I _favor_ her, yes."

"You do understand that if I go through with this, I will be in defiance of the Nazi party. Everything I've stood for in my life for the last eleven years. All because of some whore you met at the camp," Ludwig said slowly.

"Yes."

Ludwig sighed. A nervous dampening of ice crept its way across Gilbert's back at Ludwig's pause. Eventually, Ludwig placed a heavy hand on his shorter brother's shoulder. "You are fortunate to have a brother as I. I will help you with keeping this girl safe for the selection, but I still stand by what I believe in for the Nazi party. Do not take this too far."

Gilbert nodded earnestly. "Thank you."

"Yes. But you owe me. Big time." Ludwig said, closing his eyes.

"Drinks are on me next time, okay?"

* * *

Gilbert needed to find that girl and warn her about tomorrow. The autumn sun was low in the sky, and cast long shadows throughout the camp. This far north, the sky darkened around 3:30. Gilbert found himself anxiously pacing the building that he saw Roderich shepherd her out of the other day. He also found himself behind the wall where he had first asked her what she was doing here. Tracing the scrape he had left in the brick with his crop the other day with his fingers. At six, the siren rang, and the prisoners began trickling back to their barracks. Gilbert was too wise and too desperate to miss his chance.

"You there! Prisoner 152070! Come with me right now!" he barked.

No one stared at him. It was a common occurrence. He roughly grabbed his victim by her sleeve and tugged her out of sight and earshot behind another building.

"Elizabeta."

_"Beilschmidt?"_

"I have to tell you something important. I also have some food." The black suited guard started digging in his coat. There he pulled out a small orange fruit. "I assumed you were getting sick of bread, even though the stuff I bring is real bread." he said.

Elizabeta shook her head. "No… when you're as hungry as I am, I fantasize about eating watery soup and sawdust bread every day for the rest of my life." Eliza took the orange and held it gingerly, as if she thought she'd never see one again. Such a thing was as rare as candy.

"Is your wrist any better?" He wasn't sure if it would be proper to ask about the bruise he had left on her arm or if he even felt guilty about it. It was a self-explanatory purplish-green color. He took the fruit back, peeled off a black glove, and with a nail ripped a strip off from the skin.

"I had to force myself to sew with my left hand now. But it's okay." She seemed perplexed by his concern.

"Just don't go t the infirmary for it, whatever you do." Gilbert advised, and started kicking the powdery ground with the heel of his boot, making a hole to bury the peel in. He scuffed the ashy dirt over the only bit of brilliant color in all of Birkenau. She stared at him kicking ash over the peel. He handed the orange to her and she broke off the first section, which she quickly put in her mouth. He realized late she probably would have had a trade use for the peel too.

"I also have some bad news to tell you," he said.

The female raised her eyebrows, still chewing.

"They are performing a _selektion_ of your block at rollcall tomorrow morning."

"I heard some of the vets whispering about that. What is it?" Elizabeta asked.

"A bunch of SS and some doctors will line you up stark naked and force you to run at the Appellplatz. If they see someone falling behind they'll write down their number and evaluate you. I don't think I need to tell you what happens to those who _do_ get written down."

Elizabeta was uncomfortably silent as she chewed on her orange. Gilbert's red gaze just flashed towards the rising smoke on the horizon in answer.

"You shall run so fast that they couldn't even see your tattoo if they tried, understand?"

Eliza nodded. "Of course. Thank you for the warning. But I am young and strong. I've only been here a few weeks. I'm better off than most people, especially with your gifts. What makes you so worried?"

"Because Roderich said he was going to be there with the doctors and point you out."

Elizabeta became silent as the grave. Her face looked almost as pale as Gilbert imagined his always was.

Gilbert tried his best not to let frustration of the image of the Austrian seeing Elizabeta nude that came into his mind's eye seep in to his voice. "But do not worry; I talked to my brother about it. He's the one who got me the job here. He's a real Nazi, but he is true to me and said he'd try and keep Roderich Edelstein from showing up tomorrow. But I want you to be very careful anyway in case he fails. And save a section of the orange to give you strength to run tomorrow morning." Gilbert said.

* * *

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

A cold rain fell slowly from the clouds. A gloved hand reached for the Austrian's shoulder as he boarded the train from the guardhouse. Roderich turned around, his brows raised quizzically upon being approached by his coworker.

"Oh. Hello Ludwig. Nice day we're having?"

"Yes. Er, Roderich. I just wanted to say thank you for taking us out the other night, even though I wasn't really involved with helping you. With that Hungarian, and all." Ludwig said.

Roderich Edelstein nodded once. "Not a problem. It was only the respectful thing to do," the southerner responded, cordially waving a hand. Ludwig noticed that he seemed to appreciate being thanked, though. He stood for a moment, politely waiting for his cue to walk away. Ludwig seized his chance before he could miss it.

"I stumbled upon a ticket to a Warsaw Opera house from a friend of mine. I hear they're playing Wagner, I knew you were into that. He's the Führer's favorite, actually. I'm not especially into music, but I knew you would have a use for it. It's on Friday. Would you care to come? I understand you'd have to miss work, but your attendance record has been so outstanding I'm sure one little day won't hurt."


	6. Chapter 6

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert was to be plagued by an unusual nightmare that night.

Himself, Ludwig, and Roderich were alone in the bar, along with the bartender. It was a different bartender than Gilbert remembered this time though. He was pale, short of stature, like the alpine men, with smooth very dark brown hair. And the most piercingly hawk-like, dark blue eyes. He placed three beer glasses on the counter, each beautifully inscribed with a majestic eagle clutching a swastika in its talons. They were sloshing and filled to the brim with a thick red liquid. Gilbert understood without sampling it that it was not wine. The bartender's voice spoke articulately in smooth German, punctuated with a slight Austrian accent. Despite the man's nonthreatening –almost studious- appearance, the voice was fierce and inspiring. A square brown mustache bobbed just above his lips with his words.

"Drink up, my boys."

Roderich and Ludwig each grasped their thick glasses at the command and took a mighty swig. Gilbert saw the Austrian's Adam's apple bob heartily as he swallowed with his brother.

"Is there a problem, Gilbert?" Roderich asked him genuinely, his teeth and lips stained meatily in what he had just drank.

Gilbert lifted his glass and examined it. He saw something floating in the red liquid and pulled it out. It was a single, brown wavy strand of long, feminine hair that had fallen in.

"Oh God….. OH GOD!"

* * *

"Gil! Gil! Wake up!"

Ludwig had a firm hand on his shoulders, shaking the young man awake. Gilbert sat up rigidly in his cot, panting and drenched in sweat.

"Ludwig… open your mouth." Gilbert commanded.

_"What?"_

Ludwig was too confused to comply, but asking the question had provided Gilbert with the information he needed. The blonde's teeth were their usual pearl white, not stained a crimson red.

"Phew…." Gilbert sighed in relief.

Ludwig placed a comforting hand on his elder brother's shoulder, refraining from asking about why his brother would make such a strange request.

"Listen," the blonde breathed, "I have something important to tell you. I tried to get Roderich to go to one of his sissy composer operas, but he insisted that he not miss work today. He's out of leave days. I'm sorry. But I'm sure Elizabeta will be fine as long as she runs too fa-"

"What! Where is he?" Gilbert cut in.

"I don't know. Probably on the way into Birkenau now." Ludwig said.

"Why didn't you wake me sooner? Ugh, never mind, no time to argue with you. I'll go and shoot the bastard myself if I have to!" Gilbert swiftly launched himself out of the cot and began to don his uniform.

"Gilbert! Wait!"

But the silver haired male was already racing out the door.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"Block 204 of Birkenau," the static voice blurted through the bullhorn, "report to changing room C and reconvene in the center of the Appellplatz for selection in five minutes."

The moment was upon her. But Elizabeta was filled with a strange calm. She slipped the remaining orange slice from her sleeve and slipped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet taste. They stripped down, but the prisoners were worried about far more than being embarrassed. Groups of friends and siblings huddled around in small circles, whispering comforts to each other. 'Hush, now, you look fine. You won't be called out.' Her group was herded to the center of the plaza and lined up.

She felt eyes staring into her back from afar. She kept her back turned towards the offending stare, but turned her face. Her blood ran cold upon noticing Officer Edelstein's purplish stare glaring in to her. He was not staring at her breasts or her curves, not that there was much to look at, he stared flat out into her green eyes in an almost gentlemanly way. He didn't crack an evil or cruel smile; his eyes were as cold as ice as he met her stare evenly as his equal. He mouthed a single word.

Viszlát

It was a word in Hungarian. Bye, he had said.

_What is he doing here? Didn't Gilbert say that his brother had it under control?_

A cold shiver overcame her body. She wasn't sure if it was from the blistering cold or the threat of imminent death. The command came for her group to run, and like a deer she bolted from the line. Adrenaline pumped from her strained heart into her cold veins, lancing through her arteries and sending her springing barefoot across the pavement on the balls of her feet. She knew it was unwise to draw attention to herself so she forced herself to slow down before she passed the majority of the males in the other block chosen for the selection. She strayed towards the very edge of the line opposite of the Austrian guard and continued swiftly, hoping that enough bodies would pass between them so he couldn't take note of her number even if he tried.

But she looked back towards him as she passed. She noticed him lean over and whisper to one of the doctors and look at her. The doctor did not look at her, but scribbled something down on the page anyway. It was then she realized it didn't even matter, the Austrian had doomed her before she even started running.

Despite all of her efforts, the young Hungarian had failed anyway.

* * *

Elizabeta was back in uniform, being marched down across the grass towards a set of stairs leading in to the ground. The prisoner musician band was stationed above the set of cement stairs, playing cheery music. No doubt it was a ploy by the Nazis to try and calm down the prisoners who already knew that the showers meant death. All of the prisoners who weren't selected out upon arrival knew that selected groups who entered the showers were reported to have never returned. It was no secret. But some showers were completely normal. One of the musicians caught her gaze and smiled at her reassuringly.

She descended the stairs with about fifty other people into a cement locker room. The floor of the room was wet with footprints, as if people had been coming in and out.

A Sonderkommando was pacing around the locker room with a speaker. "Fold your uniforms up neatly on a shelf. Remember the shelf number so you can reclaim your clothes when you return. Tie your shoes up on the hook by their laces, lost shoes and clothing will not be replaced," he commanded, making his rounds and repeating the directions in several other languages.

In another minute the Hungarian was ushered shivering into the underground shower and felt the heavy metal door close behind her. It looked just like the one that they had forced her to come into after being let out from the boxcar. The floor was wet, but she didn't see any grime or hair on the floor like the other showers they had ran her through. In fact, it smelled just like fresh paint. Elizabeta walked over to the wall and pinched it. The chalky damp white paint stuck to her hand, which she then rolled into a claylike ball between her thumb and forefinger. She examined the mark where the paint she had touched was removed from the wall. It was blue underneath…. Why?

A metal door slid closed. A hiss filled the air, coming from the showerheads. That was when the screams started. Mothers and fathers embraced their children and fell on top of them. Eliza instinctively found herself running back towards the door. With a fierce tug she pulled at the handle, which held rigid. Locked. She held her breath as she felt people press up behind her, fingernails raking on her back, crushing her against the door as they tried to break it down. Eliza felt herself being pushed on to the wet floor and people fell on top of her. Her cheek was pushed against the cold and wet cement floor under the other bodies.

Then it all went black.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A Sonderkommando was a prisoner unit employed by the Nazis to do their dirty work, since even the Nazis didn't want to be around the other prisoners unless it was necessary. They were usually picked because they appeared stronger than the other prisoners and were asked if they wished to receive better treatment, food, and housing in exchange for doing different work. They didn't have knowledge to exactly what type of work they had to do before they accepted, which usually included collecting and burning bodies or burying ashes or overseeing certain darker aspects of the camps. They were replaced with new ones after five months.

The bartender in the dream was Adolf Hitler.

The reason Elizabeta found it blue underneath the paint was because the Zyklon B gas left a blue residue on the walls. The Nazis hosed the gas chambers down after each use, which is why she noticed the floor was wet, but clear of things like hair (reference to Prussia's nightmare) that would accumulate in a shower room, and repainted them fully after about every five or so uses.


	7. Chapter 7

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

The engine roared in his ears like an angry beast as he hit the dirt road at well over eighty kilometers per hour. The fierce autumn chill buffeted his exposed flesh beneath his goggles as he raced by at reasonably unsafe speeds for the rickety machine _._ Just a matter of minutes ago he had commandeered one of the several gleaming black motorcycles stationed outside the guard's quarters, which the higher ranking officers occasionally used to get to work when they were feeling above the usual grunt's check-in time.

_If Roderich did make it to work today, I don't see what would stop him from doing what he came to do about Elizabeta. So there's no sense wasting precious time in tracking him down. Not now, at least. Right now I'll have to go to the root of the problem._

The words _Arbeit macht frei_ flashed over his head as he raced into the camp gates on the sleek black motorcycle. Like a loud ghost he flew into the camp, sending numerous prisoners jogging off the cement as if they were plunging for cover in the shellfires of war. The other guards in the camp didn't question the blatantly indiscreet motorcycle as it raced by, for safely hidden behind his helmet and goggles they assumed Gilbert was just an angry superior. Someone they did not want to question.

He reached the short cement building adjacent to the showers near to the crematoria and killed the engine of the roaring vehicle. Without missing a beat he swung his legs over the side of the motorcycle and with a violent kick to the stand stopped it ungracefully on the brick wall of the edifice. Panting, he barreled his way inside the side door and down the steps, taking four at a time. There he saw a gray-uniformed form slouched on the metal door of the shower's outside, he was older and wrinkled; perhaps in his early fifties. But the badges on his uniform marked him as a lower rank than that of Gilbert. A bottle of vodka was loosely clutched in his hands.

"You there, guard! Who is in there now!"

He looked up as he slumped against the door. "Mostly a block of male Polish Jews. Also a few dozen Hungarian women chosen at today's selections. Is there a problem, sir?"

In a rage, Gilbert felt his knee slam against the grunt and pin him to the steel door. The Prussian wasn't sure why, but the crack of ribs that reached his ears he found oddly satisfying. He also found his gloved hand reaching for the man's throat. His red eyes were deadly serious.

"Help me open this door right now." Gilbert ordered.

"C-c-an't…" he choked out.

Gilbert increased the pressure, causing the other guard's eyes to flutter back into his skull for a moment. "Whyever not?"

"….The v-v-vents…..not done …. Fanning away…g-gas….."

Gilbert felt his hand slip from the other man's throat. Gas. Oh God. He was already too late. The deed had been done. He stood there for a moment as whatever minute amounts of pigment in his face drained away before crashing his fists against the reinforced door in despair. With an agonized screech he let loose a string of curses.

"Sir, who is in there?"

With a groan Gilbert slumped onto the floor, his head buried in his hands. No. _Nonononononono._ His body shook with frustration and denial as emotions he had never felt before coursed through his being. "Ludwig Beilschmidt is my brother," he murmured "If you tell a soul what I asked, it will be you in the chimneys, understand?" his voice was soft with defeat, but the lower ranking guard's head bobbed like a jackhammer.

"The vodka..." Gilbert noted. "Why do you have it?"

"It is my job to sit here and listen to make sure everything goes smoothly until they come in to remove the bodies. Sometimes the screams are too hard to listen to…"

With a fluid motion, Gilbert found his hand reaching towards the bottle and held it to his lips. He took a swallow. Then another. And another. And another. Before he knew it a quarter of the bottle had disappeared down his throat.

"Stop it boy, you're gonna kill yourself!"

Roughly, Gil pushed the subordinate away and set the bottle back on the tile floor. His fist banged against the steel door in childish rage. God, he couldn't believe it. Elizabeta Héderváry, in all her beautiful defiance, her extraordinary will to survive, to not be a pawn in the Nazis game, was no more. Dead, with her lungs cooked, lying just feet away on the other side of this door. And with all his influence he had been powerless to stop it. He had shot more people than he would ever bother to remember. But when it came to saving lives he was utterly _hopelessly_ useless. A fierce pang of guilt wracked his frame. It was then he realized he needed to see her body for himself. He knew if he didn't see it he'd never accept it.

He waited for the minutes to tick by in silence, the muffled hum of the detoxification vents the only company in his thoughts. He did not reach for the bottle again. He merely sat on the other side of the locked door taking deep breaths, his head on his hands. Eventually, he heard footsteps. The striped uniform marked their maker as another prisoner, an older male clutching an iron key ring.

"Good day, officers. We will commence removing the chambers of their _contents_ now."

"Where are you taking them?" Gilbert asked.

"To the big room down the hall. To extract gold teeth and cut the women's hair and them load them in to the trucks to the chimneys."

"I will accompany you."

The prisoner just nodded, knowing better than to ask questions. The older guard had recovered from his shock at being attacked, but he realized that whatever this strange pale guard wanted to see inside the chamber that it was best he didn't know about it. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulders, looked him in the eye, and silently disappeared up the stairs.

Gilbert trained his gaze on the prisoner as he unlocked the door. Some more prisoners came wielding floor stretchers and managed to pull the heavy steel reinforced door open. Gilbert was not prepared for what he saw. The pink nude bodies pressed on the other side of the door slumped out, their dead faces frozen in their various states of fear and panic. Arms were locked around their own throats in the universal expression of suffocation. Children were buried underneath their parents. Some of the bodies were bleeding and wounded, as if in a primal fear their neighbors had lashed out and attacked them. The reek of piss and shit assaulted him. Forms were piled up as high as his head by the door as if they had stampeded each other in a mad attempt to save themselves, only to find themselves wasting their limited amount of oxygen with the effort and died against the doorway.

_Where is God?_

The prisoners started shoving the bodies on to the mats and started pulling them down the hall to the cutting room. Gilbert held his mouth as he suppressed the urge to retch. It was then that he saw a familiar feminine silhouette on the mat, being dragged down the hall and disappearing in a doorway. With long strides he ran to the room the first prisoner directed him to. He skidded inside the doorway, where he was met with another eerie scene from a horror film. Ten people were sitting at desks, cutting the head hair off of the bodies.

Before he could ask, he was moving towards where he thought he saw Elizabeta's light russet hair disappear. But an unfamiliar voice froze him in his tracts.

"There's something wrong! A pulse!"

Immediately, he started running towards the creator of the voice; wildly, _foolishly_ , hoping. A cutter was standing over Elizabeta, his hand at her carotid artery. In a fluid movement Gilbert picked up the naked body. The other prisoners in the room stopped what they were doing and gaped at the Nazi holding the body of the dead prisoner. His hand flew to her throat like it had to the old guard minutes ago, but before he could tighten the death grip his hand slowed, two gentle fingers reaching underneath her chin.

_Fllp….. fllp….._

A pulse…

But how? She was in there for twenty minutes. She should be dead as a doornail. His gaze flashed over to whatever person was unfortunate enough to be standing nearest to him. "You! How is this possible! Or am I dreaming?"

"Sir… it appears that she was crushed under so many bodies that a small pocket of untainted air formed after she went unconscious and started breathing. The children and women are always on the bottom. Perhaps the air was moist enough since she was on the wet floor that…"

But the prisoner never finished. He stopped talking when he saw the Nazi's lips press upon those of the girl, as if he could suck the poison from her lungs. Or maybe he was kissing her. The prisoner would never know, because in a blink it was gone.

"I will be taking her now. I'll correct the papers. Nothing will be told to the other guards." Gilbert said.

The leader of the cutters stood up. Obviously, he did not care of the girl's miraculous survival. It was quite clear in his eyes that he thought she would be dead in a matter of hours, one way or another. "Let me cut her hair."

"Fuck off, you creepy bastard. She's alive. Why the hell do you need hair anyway!"

"It's my job. Your brothers fighting in Russia need blanket stuffing. My brothers here need insulation in the walls of their barracks. "

Before Gilbert had even thought about it a fierce backhand was delivered to the offending speaker. He shifted the unconscious Eliza in his arms and moved from the underground hair-cutting room. He knew that some of the higher ups kept their vehicles in the adjacent garage. He had to make his departure discreet. If anyone else saw him and discovered what he had just done he would be court-marshaled. He entered the dimly lit cement room and smiled upon one of the more nondescript black cars. A wry grin cracked across his lips as a plan formed in his mind.

* * *

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

Ludwig had just come home from a long day at work into the small room in the guardhouse that he and his brother shared. With a sigh, he set his uniform on his bed and started towards the closet for something more comfortable to wear. Upon opening his closet door, an unconscious young woman with long brown hair slumped out.

* * *

**A/N.** This method of survival underneath the bodies happened to a Hungarian teen in Auschwitz in 1943. Unfortunately, she was shot upon her discovery by the Sonderkommandos.


	8. Chapter 8

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

It was dark; very dark, except for a small light.

_Am I dead? Probably. Yet I certainly don't think my lungs would hurt this much if I really was in heaven. But what was that bit that they say in the movies about not going towards the light?_

It wasn't a sparkly round white light though like she thought it would be, it was long and flat. And it had a kind of ugly yellow tinge like that of light bulb. She felt herself reaching towards it, only to have the tip of her fingers collide with something hard. She stood up, only just realizing that she was sitting on the ground.

It was almost like she was in a little room. She probed the dark surface in front her with her palm, the tips of her fingers detecting a slight wood grain of the material. _A door?_ She flipped her fingers into the crack of light and slid the door open.

…Only to emerge into a small room with a brawny blonde-haired blue-eyed young man sitting on a wooden chair reading a book titled _Mein Kampf_ ; a red swastika armband adorning his arm.

"Forget _heaven_ , I'm in _hell!"_ Elizabeta exclaimed.

The Nazi looked up and jumped over to her, sliding a hand over her mouth. "Shhh! There's no women here, if someone hears your voice you're dead!"

_"Mrrwuht?"_

"Be quiet. I'll explain everything, _Elizabeta."_

How did he know her name? It was then she realized that she was still completely naked. Eliza stepped away from the huge blond man and held one of the blankets on the cot around her body. Feeling somewhat embarrassed too, the Nazi looked away from the naked woman as she tried to cover herself.

"Done?"

"Mhm."

"You are indeed alive. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, Gilbert's brother. He hid you in that closet in this room in the guardhouse we share until you woke up. Roderich told us about how he planned to point you out. I tried to stop him from showing up yesterday but I failed. When I told Gil he immediately stole a motorcycle and ran after you, but he was already too late. You survived the gas chambers due to a complete fluke. Gilbert had arrived by then and was asking questions and beating people up, he saw you come out and someone noticed your pulse. He ran with you into the garage where he slipped you into the backseat of some officer's car he broke in to. Then he drove you back here."

"Where is he now?"

"He's putting the car back where he found it. Right now no one but a few prisoners and a guard know about what he did, but I _assure_ you they'll be no speaking. I took those matters into my own hands. He's also getting some things for you. He left about an hour ago."

Eliza nodded. _He really did all of that? For a prisoner like me?_ "Thank you, Ludwig Beilschmidt. I appreciate it. More than I ever can say. But I do have one more question to ask if you don't mind?"

"Yes?"

"Why haven't you turned me in yet?"

Ludwig was quiet for a moment.

"Because if I did, Gilbert would be dead."

Eliza looked upon the Nazi with a glint of fear in her eyes. But she appreciated the honesty. She opened her mouth to say something, but the click of the outside doorknob turning cut her off. She quickly threw herself underneath the cot.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Hair messy and his face flushed from the cold, Gilbert walked into the small room. In his hands were a folded prisoner uniform and a tattoo needle. He scanned the room. Lud was leaning on his cot, looking oddly at a pile of blankets under his bed.

"Elizabeta? It's only Gilbert."

The pile of blankets shifted and crawled out from under the bed. Eliza leaped over to him and embraced the tall Prussian. Gilbert found himself enthusiastically returning the gesture. "Eliza! You're okay! I was so afraid that you wouldn't wake up!"

The two broke from their embrace, Eliza's arms still holding the wrapped blankets in place around her torso. She coughed a few times. "Gilbert. Ludwig told me the whole story about how you saved me... what's that in your hands?"

"Well, one, I've got a new camp uniform for you." The young man handed the stripped clothes to the Hungarian and turned around. "Change into it, I made sure to take one of the nicer new ones. Ludwig, turn around please."

The younger man didn't need to be told twice and was already facing the wall while Elizabeta changed back into the uniform. She quietly set the sheets back on Gilbert's cot.

"And two, a tattoo apparatus. I already went in and changed the records; prisoner number 152070 died of gas on Friday. But a certain prisoner number 182070 just arrived from Budapest yesterday. Understand?"

Elizabeta and Ludwig nodded in agreement. Eliza knew that despite everything the safest place for her was back in the camp. She couldn't hide in the brothers' room for more than a few hours and not be discovered. There was no feasible way to sneak her into town on the trains that the guards used to get back and forth, and even if they did, Elizabeta did not speak Polish and doubted she would survive a day without discovery.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Her forearm was still numb from where Gilbert had tattooed a curving diagonal line from the 5 and turned it into a lopsided 8 last night. It wasn't a particularly artistic job; but the man had never tattooed anything before and she found the amateurish curved line to be rather charming. The aforementioned Prussian had arranged her in a new bunk, in a different warehouse, with new people who wouldn't recognize her. Gilbert made it so her occupation was still sewing the handheld flags together since that was still one of the jobs with the least amount of physical risk to it. She had blended in easily, and since she already knew how to do the work she garnered little negative attention.

Her warehouse was running out of thread, and when the Kapos were complaining about it she had volunteered to run over to the other warehouse , which turned out to be her old one, and get some. After explaining her task to the guards stationed at the doors of the old warehouse, they let her in and pointed her towards the supply room at the far end of the building. She walked dutifully past the rows of other prisoners with her face turned, as not to be recognized. The large box of the spools of red, white, and black thread was heavy in her thin arms, but she forced herself across the room anyway. That was when she noticed a familiar dark-haired form on the other side of the long tables. Eliza looked over at Officer Roderich Edelstein and met his earthy bluish-brown eyes with her green ones evenly. She could not resist cracking a faint impression of a smile, just enough to be missed. Edelstein turned white as if he had seen a ghost.

 _He might as well have,_ Elizabeta thought with satisfaction. When the Austrian went to rub his eyes, Elizabeta swiftly disappeared out the door with her cargo.


	9. Chapter 9

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert completed his patrols by rote that day, absentmindedly kicking a piece of loose concrete around his patrol section with the toes of his shiny black boots. _The_ piece of concrete, to be specific. The one Elizabeta had broken away some days ago and attempted to use as a weapon against Roderich had still been loosely budged between its neighbors on the Appellplatz before Gilbert started kicking it.

_Roderich… what is it I am to do with him? It is obvious that he cannot be trusted. Elizabeta's survival and my involvement with her has to stay a secret from him at all costs. We'll both be made examples of if he spills, which I don't think he'll hesitate to if he finds out. And it's not like I can threaten a real guard to be quiet, there's too many people for him to spill to and too many who would actually believe him._

Gilbert found himself once again behind the wall where he had had his first real moment alone with Eliza. Where _he_ had struck her. Where _she_ had _kissed_ him.

The lopsided chunk of cement met a half sunken boulder a few feet away from the brick wall with an abiotic _clunk_ , awaking the silver haired male from his reverie. He sat down on it, his back facing the wall a few feet away. It was kind of pretty there actually. A handful of straggly strands of long autumn-tinted wildgrass poked up from the gray soil around the boulder. The place was so far out of the way none of the prisoners had attempted to eat it yet. If one kept looking on, even then the scenery was beautiful. White barked paper birches and aspens reached up from the horizon on the far side of the purposefully coverless swampy meadow, their leaves aflame with the fiery pigments of death. _It was beautiful,_ he laughed, until he noticed the electrified hum of the ten-meter chain link fence and the deadly coils of barbed wire that separated him from it.

Gilbert heard footsteps and stood up.

"Gilbert? I had a feeling I'd see you back here!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

"Eliza? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working?"

"I was sent on an errand from the Kapos to get more thread from the other warehouse a few minutes ago. I put the boxes back in ours and left again, they'll think I'm just getting more."

Gilbert sat back down and patted the space on the boulder next to him. "Come sit."

Eliza complied happily as Gilbert started messing around inside his jacket. He pulled out a long, full sized roll of soft dark lye bread. "Gil, how did you sneak that in without everyone thinking you had just gained five kilos?"

The Prussian just shrugged, ripping it and handing the larger part of it to Eliza. "It's getting cold, it's not uncommon for people to bundle up. I'm sure they just thought I was wearing some extra layers. Plus, this one's big enough for us to share since you've got a few minutes."

Eliza smiled widely in agreement and placed a torn piece of the still-warm salted bread inside her mouth. Gilbert did the same, but he ate little.

"You're shivering." The guard noted slowly. He started taking of his black uniform jacket and wrapped it around the Hungarian's shoulders.

"That's risky. I'm used to it."

"It's okay. My normal clothes are probably still warmer than what you've got without it."

Eliza nodded in gratitude and wrapped her thin arms around Gilbert's torso, her head hovering near his warm chest for a moment. "It's beautiful back here, with the forest over there. And the wall makes a great blindspot from the towers."

Gilbert nodded _._ "When my people came here in '39 they say there was a small village here. It was called _Brzezinka._ It means birch forest in Polish. It's how this place got the German name Birkenau."

"A beautiful name for an evil place. What happened to the village?"

The guard shrugged. "Don't know. Tore it down and killed everyone."

Eliza frowned disapprovingly and placed another hunk of bread in her mouth. "To be expected from Nazis."

"Hey, it's not like I went in and did it myself."

"What kind of SS are you, anyway? I've never seen one with reddish eyes and silver hair before. Aren't you all about eugenics and racial superiority?"

"What if I'm just so blond that my hair is white?" he said.

"That doesn't explain the eyes, they're the complete opposite color," she noted, no real malice behind her words. Gilbert scowled in response, having no real come-back.

"That's okay. I like them, they're unique. Even if they _were_ a little scary at first." They both laughed at the admittance.

"I think Roderich is _still_ scared by them!" Gilbert added, much to the Hungarian's amusement.

Eventually the laughing faded away, and the pair was sitting in silence again as the sun lowered in the sky. The two found themselves pressing together for warmth in the cold waning light of dusk. Gilbert's arm reached behind Eliza's shoulders, and her head bent in to nuzzle gently his chest. They sat like that for a long time.

"Gilbert?"

"Nnnm?" he grunted in response.

"I think it's time."

Gilbert sighed and regretfully pulled away from Eliza's warmth. Elizabeta slipped her thin frame out of the oversized jacket and helped the Prussian slide his arms through the thick dark fabric as she buttoned it back over him; her breath curling around him in soft white puffs from her nose.

"It was good seeing you again today. Thank you for the bread."

"Be safe now, until I can see you again, alright?" Gilbert said.

The two slid off the boulder and met in a tight embrace. Eliza almost found it hard to breathe with Gilbert's strong arms cradling her so fiercely, but she didn't want to beak it. Eventually the prison bar arms slackened and she found room to look him in the eye. He stared back at her curiously, wondering why she lingered.

Wordlessly, she closed the distance between them again, her lips descending upon his in a full kiss. She sensed his primary shock, his hesitation, and eventually his eager acquiescence. Their lips moved together and eventually split into an open mouthed kiss. Gilbert's left hand burrowed its way into her tawny curls of hair. The right one slid inside her thin uniform and caressed the warm curve of her back as he willed her closer, leaving her breasts and posterior a respectful berth.

Voices began to echo from far away as the prisoners began to march back to their barracks. In regretful unison, they broke from the kiss and looked each other in the eyes; communicating silently.

_'Goodbye for tonight, Gilbert.'_

_'Goodbye, Eliza. Stay safe.'_

The Prussian and the Hungarian disappeared simultaneously around opposite sides of the building, the only evidence of their encounter the fading clouds of icy vapor that escaped from their lungs and evaporated into the starry dusk.


	10. Chapter 10

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

The brunette Hungarian was walking back to work the next morning when a cold hand grabbed her shoulder. It didn't have Gilbert's familiar firmness to it and she flinched away from the touch. She was worried until the voice spoke.

"One fi— _eight_ two oh seven oh!"

"Yessir?" Eliza mouthed as she turned to meet Ludwig's blue eyes. He pulled her behind a building and looked circumspectly around.

"All clear, Gil sent me. He couldn't come this morning without looking suspicious. Don't worry; nothing's wrong."

Eliza let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, Ludwig?"

"He just wanted me to give you this. He said you'd probably want something with some protein. They were finally giving a bit of it out in the mess hall this morning." Ludwig slipped a few strips of cold meat from his sleeve and into the Hungarian's hand.

"Bacon? How on earth did you get that in 1944! Ah never mind, thanks a bunch Ludwig."

The aforementioned German nodded staidly. He uttered a 'Wiedersehen' and turned to leave.

But Elizabeta was not so carefree. "What is that noise?"

"What noise?" Ludwig asked.

"Shh."

A low buzzing filled the air like the hum of a thousand locusts. Ludwig's head pricked up with recognition. The accusing noise manifested itself in the forms of dozens of avian-shaped shadows in the cirrus, slowly and steadily marching forward across the cerulean skies like an army of Death's vultures in tiny little V shapes.

 _"Americans,"_ Ludwig hissed, as if the word was a curse. He glanced up at the shapes in the sky vehemently.

"Americans?" the Hungarian repeated, more out a want for elucidation than misunderstanding.

"B-17s, by the sound of it. The flying fortress," he clarified. But Elizabeta could care less as to whatever specific planes they were. She only cared of their intention.

" _B_ …. _B_ as in Bomber?"

"Yes."

"They're going to bomb us?!" Elizabeta shrieked.

"No."

She cursed the German and his ambiguous one-word responses. "But… then what are they doing? They can't fly planes right over goddamned _Auschwitz_ and not bomb it!"

"Sure they can. Watch them," Ludwig replied blithely, with the sureness gained from experience.

Eliza was silent for a moment as the silhouettes of the allied warplanes appeared in the sky directly above them. One eclipsed the sun, its shadow flashing like a ghost directly over her. Sure enough, not one of them dropped any of their deadly cargo on the camp. A complex fluttering of emotions flitted through her heart. She was ecstatic to see them. But enraged that they had become so blatantly close only to be ignored. She wanted the bombs to fall.

"What else could they possibly be aiming for?" she asked.

"The Monowitz oil refinery, ten kilometers from here. They want to starve out our oil supply."

"But…. certainly they …. They have to know what's going on in here! Everyone in here is a dead man anyway. Even the prisoners would want them to bomb! Or at least the railways leading in to camp can be taken out." Eliza stopped herself before she could continue, suddenly afraid of offending her most recent ally in her survival. Even though _she_ might have wanted Auschwitz to be bombed to smithereens, chances were Ludwig didn't.

If the Nazi was bothered by her, he didn't let on. Like a kind teacher to a curious but slow pupil he began to explain.

"I can't know, what the allies know about this," he said, gesturing with his hand to the buildings around them. "But I know that bombing isn't very accurate. Maybe they have moral issues if they think prisoners will get hit. Or they don't think it's an efficient use of their resources if they could use them to hasten the end of the war by bombing our cities instead. Maybe they don't know exactly what it is we do here. Or maybe they _do_ know, and they don't care."

They didn't care? They had to care. Elizabeta would not believe that. Sirens started to blare through the camp then, and Ludwig told her that he needed to leave, and she should get inside the nearest building.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"That's impossible. I'll admit we have not exactly been friends through the ages, Roderich, but I always respected your levelheadedness." Gilbert said, looking over to his most recent companion. Roderich had caught him on the way from the soldier's barracks.

"I swear to it. What motive have I to lie?" the Austrian reasoned desperately.

"I don't think you're lying. I'm saying you just might have had one too many of your fancy Rieslings before work that day, _that's all."_ the Prussian quipped with a slight snicker.

"I saw her. Or at least someone who looked just like her. And don't you talk to _me_ about sobriety, Beilschmidt."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes in answer. "It is completely unfeasible to survive the chambers," Gilbert said. "Even if the machines malfunction the whole crew is either dead or alive. There's never just one that slips through. And even if one did survive they'd be burned alive if they were unconscious. Shot if they weren't. Are you sure she made it to the chambers?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes! That's why I am so confused. There's not exactly a way to escape once you have been written off. Multiple guards are constantly stationed around them since the prisoners expect what is coming to them and know that they're desperate."

"See? It's probably just some different Hungarian girl then. Southern wretches all look the same." Gilbert said, his voice layered with unconcern. He perfected the statement with an indifferent shrug.

"But she smiled at me. Like she _knew_ me." Roderich pressed.

With an exasperated sigh, Gilbert shook his head and touched a dark-gloved hand to his brow. "Rod, you're so oblivious. Like a child. She probably just saw you and thought you were handsome or something and the little whore tried to catch your attention. Maybe she thought you'd give her some rations for sex. What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"Just tell me if you see someone who looks like her, alright?"

"Sure, sure. Will do. I'll let you know. You let me know if you see _der Führer_ commit suicide instead of a noble death on the field of battle like he preaches to the Jugend. Or hell, if you see any giant bombs that make clouds shaped like happy little mushrooms. Yeah, and the guy's plane who drops the bomb is named after his mother, too!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Gilbert. I am being serious. Something could be dangerously wrong here." Roderich stated urgently.

"Fine, whatever. I'll let you know if I see the girl okay?"


	11. Chapter 11

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

She stared absentmindedly at the ground as she perched on the boulder behind the wall, swinging her wooden shoes as she stared out at the forest in the distance. She felt a pressure change behind her and looked up.

"Damn it, I was going to see if I could sneak up on you."

The voice belonged to her favorite Prussian, obviously. Eliza laughed and pulled him into a hug, lightly kissing his rose-hued cheek. He sat down on the boulder beside her.

"What's for dinner, Gil?" she queried.

The Prussian messed around in his jacket for a bit. "Two apples and some stale bread." He laughed sardonically. "Gourmet, _I know,"_ and handed Eliza an apple and the bread, keeping the other apple for himself and took a bite. With a nod of gratitude Eliza did the same.

"Gil?"

_"Nnmm?"_

"What's your favorite color?"

He looked at her, caught off guard at the sudden question. "Er…blue? A very dark blue though, like navy. Prussian blue, they call it. Yourself?"

"Dark green. Or maybe red, too." she said with a shrug. The waited for a moment, acknowledging that they knew very little of each other.

"Those are the colors on your flag. What's your favorite animal?" Gilbert asked with renewed energy.

"Cat. What's yours?"

"An eagle. A big black one."

Eliza nodded and sighed out a laugh. "You sound like a Teuton."

"The Prussian eagle, actually. You know it? Big and black with the crown. I was born in Königsberg in East Prussia in 1918 before the war ended. Technically, I'm _Prussian_ , not just German." the Prussian educated.

"Hm." Elizabeta absorbed this. "I was born in Buda. On the west side of the Danube. Pest on the other side was a completely different city. They didn't have a bridge across the Danube until 1849. So I see myself as from Buda. Can you believe they were thinking about calling it Pestbuda?"

"I didn't know they were once two cities."

"That's why I tell Germans I'm from Budapest."

"Is your arm healed? From when I had to tattoo it the other day?" Gilbert asked.

Elizabeta lifted her sleeve to display her wrist. It hurt slightly, although it was nothing notable in comparison to the rest of minor injuries that had accumulated. It was hard to rebuild eating 600 calories a day. "Sort of."

Gilbert started unbuttoning the breast of his uniform and pulled a few layers of shirts aside. For a second she suspected with his sudden disrobement he intended something else. But he only pulled the fabric away to reveal the skin of the pale underside of his upper left arm.

"Lookit' us, Eliza," he said. "We match."

Marring his chalky blue-white skin with its blackness, where his triceps met his prominent bicep, lay a tiny tattooed circle. The position under his arm hid it mostly from view, but he twisted it to display it fully to her. The tattooed O was small thick and dark gray, only about as big and round as a human thumbnail.

"What's it mean?"

"It's my blood type."

"Why?"

"Well!" Gilbert said, smiling proud and cattishly. "They've put way too many hundreds of hours of training into a warrior like me to let me die so easily. Poor investment of time on the army's part. All of we SS have it. If I ever get hurt, this way they can really quick just pump some blood in me and shove me into work again."

"But…" he softened his voice. "I guess the real reason is to stop me from runnin' off. So everyone will always know what I've chosen to be. I'm branded."

Like a cattle. They both were. Elizabeta frowned in understanding, even the men the Nazis liked were dehumanized to it. Not wishing to see it anymore, her thin fingers began to close his uniform slowly, in case he objected. But with his stillness he condoned her proximity. They sat side by side, she leaning her head against his muscled shoulder. His rough hand held hers against the cold, but after a moment his palm slid up, rubbing her tender wrist, hiding it from any eyes watching from the gray heavens.

"Do you remember the bombers yesterday?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I was just wondering … Do you think they don't care enough about us to bomb this place?"

Gilbert was quiet for a moment, his feet scuttling the pebbles on the ground. "I don't know…. Maybe anti-Semitism has a part in it. But not a significant factor. The big dogs didn't step into this war to save the Jews. But I don't think anti-Semitism the main reason they sit back. People care for other people. It's part of our nature. _As long as they don't brainwash themselves into thinking some people_ aren't _people."_

"Why, then?"

"The allies have only really had air supremacy here for the last few months. In bombing range of Auschwitz for even less. And before that I'm sure they were busy bombing the Scheiße out of France's infrastructure in preparation for their invasion of Normandy last spring. Bombing here is a decision they're afraid to make. They know the world will look back on it for decades."

Eliza nodded, appeased with his opinion. "Do you think they know what happens here?"

"I'm sure they have to know some things. People _have_ escaped from here -not many- but a few. They have to have told somebody important. Maybe they care, maybe they don't."

Eliza was silent with contemplation. Gilbert reached down to the long strands of copper grass that poked out from the boulder. He plucked a small white wildflower and tucked it into her hair above Elizabeta's ear. She looked up at him.

 _"I care,_ though. A month ago I wouldn't have. But I do now." he continued, and planted a kiss on the Hungarian's forehead. Eliza wrapped her thin arms behind Gilbert' thick throat and returned the gesture upon his ivory cheek. Her head bent behind his neck and nuzzled him gently. Gilbert sat still for a while, enjoying the feel of Eliza's warm breath gently puffing down the back of his shirt. He curled a powerful arm around her midsection and buried his face in her hair.

"Gilbert…. I want to escape from here. I have a plan." the Hungarian said.

 _"What?!"_ Gilbert barked, immediately jerking away.

"Look at the woodpile. On our side of the fence. It looks like guards haven't been using it recently." Elizabeta clarified.

"What are you saying?" Gilbert asked.

"We could sneak behind and burrow under the fence. We could run away into the night together, away from this hell."

The Prussian looked at Eliza long and hard. She could see his life weighing in the depths of his beautiful bloodred irises. He paused for a seemingly interminable breath of time, his lips pressing together low on his face. He knew his answer would dictate the rest of his life. However short it may or may not be.

"Let's go for it." he said. "The fence by Mexiko is weak. No cement underneath. We can start making an opening tonight when it's dark. The shadow of the pile should block us from the guard towers as long as we don't move around too much."

"You're… Serious? You don't want to think it over or anything?" Elizabeta asked.

"No. Don't need to. I can't keep this charade up forever. Someone would find out eventually. Then we'd both be killed. Even if we fail, I'd rather be a free man in my grave." Gilbert declared with an uncanny burst of seriousness.

Eliza nodded once. "Amen."

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

The sun had completely sunk, not a vestige of light tracing its life-giving fingers tracing over the starred horizon. "Are you ready?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes."

"Take off your shoes and hold my hand."

The pair braced themselves against the cold vertical surface of the boulder. Between them and the edge of the fence was a twenty meter long stretch of swampy bare earth, complete with a drainage ditch, dotted with straggling grasses. Watchtowers loomed threateningly on the horizon like tombstones. _"Three…."_ he whispered.

 _"Two,"_ she supplied.

_"One."_

Gilbert bolted from the building, quickly and silently crossing the coverless distance. Elizabeta was in tow, springing catlike on the balls of her feet. Her clumsy shoes dangled in her left hand, her right locked in a deathgrip around Gilbert's as she pushed her cannibalized muscles to keep up with the guard's fleet sprint. The darkness covered their ghostly movement as they stopped on the far side of the woodpile. They froze against the moldy wood panting to catch their breath, which froze into crystalline mists of white puffs.

"Do…. you... think they… saw us?" Eliza panted out between gasps.

"No…the sirens…. towers didn't see...this time," he answered. A shot would have gone out immediately.

Eliza sighed in relief. The two leaned against the wood until their pantings ceased. Gilbert righted himself as he started moving the construction logs atop of the other ones, creating a small hollow in the woodpile wide enough for them each to sit hidden from view. They sat down in the little wooden crevice, staring at the electrified bottom wire of the fence in awe.

"It's a nice little hiding spot you made," Elizabeta noted. The wood was pulled away and stacked neatly outside the pile as if it had been there all along. The hollowed out area was all but invisible unless looked upon closely.

He nodded once. "We can't dig out in the open."

"What can we dig with?" Eliza asked.

Gilbert unhooked his rifle from his back and squatted on the ground. He slipped a black gloved hand inside his coat and pulled out a pointed knife shard of gray metal. His bayonet. He fixed it on to the tip of his gun.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He shrugged. "Would you rather dig with your hands?"

Eliza frowned and nodded with understanding. "Just be careful not to touch the fence, metals are highly conductive."

There was only room for one person to dig at a time. Eliza left Gilbert to it and waited in the in the part of the 'L' shaped cove that lead to outside air. She sat silently on the cold earth between the narrow walls of stacked wooden beams. About an hour passed and Eliza crawled back to Gilbert, who was still toiling with his bayonet in the frozen mud.

"Gil?" she whispered.

"Yeah Eliza?"

"How far are you?" Elizabeta asked.

"Almost underneath, but it's not wide enough for a person to safely go under without getting shocked. We'll have to finish over the next couple days. Then we've just got to worry about the landmines."

Eliza nodded. "I think we should go now. You'll have to walk me back to my barrack get me past the Kapos. We'll meet back at the boulder tomorrow night?"

"Right." Gilbert said, nodding.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

"Are you ready to run back?" he looped the rifle over his back by its strap and cleaned the bayonet against his sleeve before slipping it back into his coat.

"Yes. I'm ready." Elizabeta said. He grabbed her hand and stood up.


	12. Chapter 12

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

"Ludwig," a voice called. The door creaked slowly closed.

His older brother had just walked into the room and leaned his rifle against the wall, which promptly slid onto the wooden floor. He was home hours late too. For some reason the weapon was all muddy. Ludwig scowled, Gilbert had better clean that up if he expected his younger brother to wake him up in the morning. He could never fathom how Gilbert could leave his weapons -an inexorable essential to them as soldiers- all over the place _. Perhaps I've spent too much time around that snobbish Roderich and finally gone crazy…._

"What?" the blond grunted in response, looking up from his book.

"I have to tell you something."

Ludwig was somewhat unnerved by the introduction. Usually Gilbert just blurted out whatever was on his mind. Bad sign. "Yes, Gilbert?"

"Me and Elizabeta. We are going to leave this place together." he said.

 **"** What do you mean 'LEAVE'?"

"We are escaping." he said with cool nonchalantness.

Ludwig didn't bother to hide his shock. The book fell from his hands with mouth agape. "You can't do that!" he blurted.

"I assure you, I will do everything in my power to do just that."

"Brother, I _implore_ you. No, I _beg of you._ Please abandon that ambition! Between the two of us we can keep her safer and healthier than any prisoner-"

Gilbert's head shook slowly. "I'm afraid not, my friend."

Ludwig's eyes flashed, abandoning his appeasement tactic as his logic's rage took over. He stood up and slammed a fist on the desk, sending the chair sliding across the floor. "Listen to me Gilbert! You haven't been here as long as I have; I've been around during escapes. Three quarters of them are captured within hours!"

"And I'll bet all those recaptured haven't had an SS guard on the inside escaping with them." he returned.

"How are you even doing it?" Ludwig asked, incredulously.

"I can't say, brother."

Ludwig shook his head in disbelief, his expression scorched with betrayal. "So you're officially abandoning us? _Der Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei?_ The Nazis? We who have made your country –your _fatherland_ \- great! Rising from the ashes of our reparations to conquer all of Europe! Deserting like some common soldier! Where's your pride, Gilbert?"

"My pride is as strong as it ever has been. I had a choice to make, that's all. The Nazis have already lost this war. I'm not going to stay here so I can be killed by some lowlife Russian or death-march back into the Rhineland with the prisoners when the front gets too close." Gilbert said with calm conviction.

Ludwig was quiet.

"I just wanted to tell you…so you wouldn't be confused. I'll find you after the war in Berlin. Stay alive."

"Please. Dear brother, I ask of you a final time. Please reconsider," Ludwig pleaded. His rage evaporated. He cared for his brother too much for that to encumber his reasonings so.

"I can't. It's too risky to stay here any longer. You know what our orders have been ever since the Russians started pushing the Polish border- kill as many prisoners as possible before they get here. She won't survive something like that twice."

Ludwig nodded slowly, sitting back in the chair. He held a hand to his brow and stared down through his fingers at the floor. "I don't _agree_ with you, but I understand."

"You won't turn us in, will you?"

"No. I can't. But when will you…." The blond trailed off.

"I don't know. Depends how warm it is, how frozen the dirt is. But I'll come back and say goodbye to you before we leave. Grab some supplies too."

"I see… well I'm going to bed. I guess I can construe now why you are so late. I've had enough of this." he sighed.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

The sun had completely sunk, not a vestige of light tracing its life-giving fingers tracing over the starred horizon. "Are you ready?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes."

"Take off your shoes and hold my hand."

The pair braced themselves against the cold vertical surface of the boulder. Between them and the edge of the fence was a twenty meter long stretch of swampy bare earth, complete with a drainage ditch, dotted with straggling grasses. Watchtowers loomed threateningly on the horizon like tombstones. _"Three…."_ he whispered.

 _"Two,"_ she supplied.

_"One."_

Gilbert bolted from the building, quickly and silently crossing the coverless distance. Elizabeta was in tow, springing catlike on the balls of her feet. Her clumsy shoes dangled in her left hand, her right locked in a deathgrip around Gilbert's as she pushed her cannibalized muscles to keep up with the guard's fleet sprint. The darkness covered their ghostly movement as they stopped on the far side of the woodpile. They froze against the moldy wood panting to catch their breath, which froze into crystalline mists of white puffs.

"Do…. you... think they… saw us?" Eliza panted out between gasps.

"No…the sirens…. towers didn't see...this time," he answered. A shot would have gone out immediately.

Eliza sighed in relief. The two leaned against the wood until their pantings ceased. Gilbert righted himself as he started moving the construction logs atop of the other ones, creating a small hollow in the woodpile wide enough for them each to sit hidden from view. They sat down in the little wooden crevice, staring at the electrified bottom wire of the fence in awe.

"It's a nice little hiding spot you made," Elizabeta noted. The wood was pulled away and stacked neatly outside the pile as if it had been there all along. The hollowed out area was all but invisible unless looked upon closely.

He nodded once. "We can't dig out in the open."

"What can we dig with?" Eliza asked.

Gilbert unhooked his rifle from his back and squatted on the ground. He slipped a black gloved hand inside his coat and pulled out a pointed knife shard of gray metal. His bayonet. He fixed it on to the tip of his gun.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He shrugged. "Would you rather dig with your hands?"

Eliza frowned and nodded with understanding. "Just be careful not to touch the fence, metals are highly conductive."

There was only room for one person to dig at a time. Eliza left Gilbert to it and waited in the in the part of the 'L' shaped cove that lead to outside air. She sat silently on the cold earth between the narrow walls of stacked wooden beams. About an hour passed and Eliza crawled back to Gilbert, who was still toiling with his bayonet in the frozen mud.

"Gil?" she whispered.

"Yeah Eliza?"

"How far are you?" Elizabeta asked.

"Almost underneath, but it's not wide enough for a person to safely go under without getting shocked. We'll have to finish over the next couple days. Then we've just got to worry about the landmines."

Eliza nodded. "I think we should go now. You'll have to walk me back to my barrack get me past the Kapos. We'll meet back at the boulder tomorrow night?"

"Right." Gilbert said, nodding.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

"Are you ready to run back?" he looped the rifle over his back by its strap and cleaned the bayonet against his sleeve before slipping it back into his coat.

"Yes. I'm ready." Elizabeta said. He grabbed her hand and stood up.

I can't. But when will you…." The blond trailed off.

"I don't know. Depends how warm it is, how frozen the dirt is. But I'll come back and say goodbye to you before we leave. Grab some supplies too."

"I see… well I'm going to bed. I guess I can construe now why you are so late. I've had enough of this." he sighed.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry –**

The scheming pair had been digging for a while, and the hole underneath the fence was almost big enough for a single person to fit through. The two had made excellent progress, and had retreated back to their boulder behind the wall for some well deserved rest. The Autumn sun was bright and warm today. But the air held the cold sweetness of low pressure, like how animals sensed a storm. Earlier, if she squinted, she could just make out dark gray snow clouds on the horizon. The northern twilight had obscured them for now.

"Gil, did you ever have any pets as a kid?" Elizabeta questioned.

"Oh yeah! I had this little yellow feathery thing. He was my best friend. My best soldier, too."

"What was its name?" she asked.

"I named him Gilbird. And don't call him an 'it.'"

"You named your bird _Gilbird?_ After yourself?!" Eliza broke out in a chorus of laughter, much to Gilbert's dismay, before she quieted herself by placing a few fingers over her mouth. The camp was too incomprehensibly enormous to hear such a sound. But she could not be careless.

"I was probably eleven years old when I found him!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands out defensively, "I thought it was a cool thing to do!"

"How did you get this Gilbird?"

"I went out 'hunting' one day, the first time my dad let me by myself, and I found him just kind of staring at me on the ground with this goofy look on his face. Like he was saying _'What you pointin' that stick at me for?"_

Eliza snorted.

"I thought he was cute –in a little kid teddybearish sort of way- so I cupped him in my hands and brought him home. He didn't fight me or anything. I was just a kid so I didn't have a whole lot of money, but I worked hard to buy a birdcage and took care of him. A real mansion of a birdcage."

Eliza snaked an arm around his shoulders "Seems you're a little paternal, huh?"

"I thought he was a chick and he'd grow up into some other type of bird, but he kind of just stayed a yellow ball. Little Ludwig _totally_ tried to get me to let him eat him at first though. He thought he was a chicken."

Eliza started laughing; a very rare free and musical sound to Gilbert while inside the walls of Birkenau. The Prussian started laughing a bit too. And Before Eliza knew it his arms were around her and she was kissing him.

She sat down on the boulder and pulled him on top of her. She felt his teeth graze her neck and his hot breath puffing down her thin shirt. Eliza's hands flitted inside his undershirt and started pulling it off and looped the black suspenders from his shoulders, yearning to feel his hot white skin against hers. His gear clattered, ignored, into the puddle of icy mud at the foot of the boulder. His hands -calloused and rough from war- passed inside her shirt, and he was not quite so respectful this time as of last. She gasped as she felt his fingers trailing along her flank and the curve of her waist, cupping a breast in his hand as he trailed his mouth along her collarbone. Eliza seeded soft kisses across his pale throat, her arms caressing his hard and bare chest, eagerly exploring this new skin. She started to pull her shirt over her head.

BLAM BLAM!

A warning shot from a gun. Dust filled the air as a piece of the boulder was blown away. Startled, Eliza bolted upright and tugged the thin fabric back over her torso. Gilbert had stood up too, already looking for the source of the attack. A silhouette of a man stood around the corner of the wall.

"You filthy liar!" the faceless voice said. She could have predicted what dialect layered the strident, aristocratic speech.

But when Eliza's eyes met her assailant, the gun was not leveled at her. It was leveled straight at Gilbert's face. In an instant the Prussian had sprung into action and knocked the firearm onto the ground, which skittered with a _klank_ against the brick wall. He swung a fierce left hook into Roderich's face, spinning the Austrian's head a gruesome 60 degrees.

"Eliza! _Run!"_ Gilbert screeched.

She looked at Gilbert in a moment of indecision as Roderich got back up. The Austrian cocked his right arm back, preparing a counterattack at Gilbert. He wasn't wasting any of his attention on her. With a final look aimed at Gilbert she turned and ran. _Follow_ _me when you can._ But not towards the barracks, no, Elizabeta ran for the fence.


	13. Chapter 13

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Eliza flee towards the hole behind the woodpile. Good, one less body he had to worry about. With that simple movement Eliza made a monumental decision: it meant they were leaving camp. Right now.

A fist whirled towards his face and Gilbert dodged neatly to the side, sliding a knee into Roderich's abdomen as he lunged. Gil knew he had the advantage physically. Roderich had spent his childhood with a paintbrush and piano, likely only hardened in the kiln of combat when he was sent to training camp. Gilbert had spent his childhood roughhousing with his brother and the neighborhood kids. He just had to end this before Roderich could do something sneaky or call for help.

Unbalanced, the brunette caught himself clumsily on the brick wall and used the momentum to push himself back at the pale Prussian. The Austrian swung a hard left fist into the side of Gilbert's head, which made fierce contact. Gil danced back away to buy him time to clear the blackness that encroached on the edge of his vision. He wiped the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve before lunging at the Austrian again. Gilbert caught the smaller man by the elbow and threw him to the ashy ground.

Roderich was not too out of his element to sit in shock. The Austrian rolled lithely on the ground before Gilbert could pin him, reaching for the gun that lay against the wall where it had been knocked from his hand.

Gilbert lunged instinctively; his black leather boot smashing Roderick's arm into the ash as he reached for the firearm.

"Isn't _this_ familiar," he couldn't help but sneer as Roderich was pinned on the ground by his wrist beneath him. An evil smile cracked across his face.

"Release me!" Roderich challenged up at him fiercely.

"No. I don't think I will."

Roderich spat blood, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously at the crimson flames that stared him down. His smooth lips pulled back thin over his white canine teeth in an uncharacteristic snarl.

"I want to know how she escaped the chambers. Did you help her?"

Gilbert didn't answer.

 _"_ Of all the _rats_ you could have chosen to have an affair with. You pick the traitorous Hungarian who tried to kill me," Roderich bit.

Gilbert remained calculatingly silent but placed another foot on the Austrian's chest. "It is unwise to anger the person who holds your life in his hands." He increased the pressure on his ribcage. _"Especially since you're the only witness."_

It was Roderich's turn to be quiet.

And in a swift, controlled, movement, Gilbert kicked the defeated man's skull against the ground. Roderich's eyes fluttered once, twice, before rolling back in his head.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Eliza crouched catlike behind the rotting stacks of split wood, panting and adrenalized. She hadn't heard any more gunshots, which she guessed was good. Hopefully the first shots were enough of an everyday occurrence not to draw attention.

_I hope Gil understands. Now that Edelstein saw us we aren't safe here anymore. We have to leave camp right now._

The Hungarian started digging around the hole to make it wider. Icy mud caught around her fingernails and chilled her hands to the bone as she dug. It might have been big enough for her narrow frame to slip through, but there's no way Gilbert could fit without touching the wire; which was coursing full of electricity like blood in an artery. She wouldn't have them come so close to freedom only to be stopped by a stupid electrified fence like a pair of untrained puppies.

She kept scratching at the dirt vigilantly as the minutes began to roll by.

_Gilbert, please be okay….._

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

He stared at Roderich's unconscious form on the ground. Blood was trickling out of his mouth. Gilbert reached down and picked up the gun that lay inches from the form's outstretched fingers.

_I can't really kill him… can I?_

Gilbert had killed people before. He was a soldier and that was an undeniable part of his job. But never a Reichsdeutscher. It was often from far away, and he certainly did not care to know the name of whom he was killing. He wouldn't look into their eyes and see his own anger reflected back in them. He didn't know that they were someone's father, husband, or brother. He ignored that aspect entirely; they all did. He had of course shot a few prisoners as part of his job too… but he admitted he didn't really think of them as people until recently.

He did know, however, than when Roderich woke up, he certainly wouldn't be thinking of Gil beating him up as an act of mercy.

With a sigh, Gilbert picked up Roderich and dragged him inside the metal door to the small brick building. It appeared to be some sort of closet with supplies. Gilbert deposited him on the floor as gently as one would a burlap sack of dirt and tied a rag around his mouth and bound his hands and feet together. Gilbert gave him another kick to the head to buy him a few more hours. He then removed the man's SS coat and his wallet. He leafed through the combination of Polish zlotys and German marks, stuffed the paper currency in his own, and tossed the small leather wallet back on the floor.

"Sorry friend. I don't know how long I'll be gone. We'll need these more than you."

He had said sorry, but it did not really sound like he meant it.

Gilbert turned to leave, but something didn't feel quite right. With a self righteous smirk, he pulled the Austrian's pants down past his ankles. He gave him a one-finger salute and marched dutifully out of the door, a smile adorning his face.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Rapid, heavy footsteps reached her ears. She was quickly met with the sight of Gilbert ducking around the woodpile, another SS coat draped over his right arm and a pair of leather boots.

"Put this on. You won't last the night wearing just that. The black should help camouflage you too."

Eliza quickly slid into the thick smooth wool fabric and buttoned it over her chest. She was grudgingly aware of who it likely belonged to, but the thick smooth black wool slid like warm armor over her skin, and she welcomed it.

"And take this, too. I already have mine." He handed her Roderich's pistol that he had picked up from the ground. Eliza stowed it in the coat pocket.

"Did anyone see you?" she asked.

"No. Roderich is out cold, I made sure of that. I locked him in a room. We should have until tomorrow before anyone notices we're missing. Hopefully in that time we can put enough ground between us and them to make it to the nearest town."

Eliza nodded in accord. "I widened the hole while you were gone. We should both be able to fit through easily now. Are you ready?"

He nodded. "Good work. You'll go first. Be careful to dodge the spotlights. We can only pray to avoid the mines. When we reach the forest we keep running until you can't anymore, okay?"

Eliza hugged him silently and crawled headfirst into the hole. She felt the ghostly hum of electricity above her head before she felt the rough sawgrass of the meadow between the fence and the treeline slashing her palms. She was outside of Birkenau. _Free._ All that stood between here and cover was the minefield and the lazily circling searchlights that circumvented it like light vultures.

She looked back into the hole. Gilbert's red eyes glittered back at her. _Go,_ they seemed to say.

And she did. She ran straight, concealed by night's darkness and the black coat. The searchlights didn't come close. Eliza couldn't see him, but she felt Gilbert hard on her heels behind her. Her body was filled with hot chemicals as she helplessly feared the landmines. The field disappeared behind her. She noticed the first birch tree trunk fly by her as she plunged into the moonlit forest, weaving through the tall white spires like a clumsy needle on a loom. Her oversized boots were neither swift nor silent, but through sheer willpower she forced herself onward. If the woman listened close enough, she could hear Gilbert crashing through the underbrush behind her until he overtook her and ran at her right. The moonlight reflected in his crimson irises, making him look not like a human but like some other wild creature of the night as he loped wordlessly alongside her. Eliza smiled. He probably couldn't see it given how dark it was, but it was the first time she had felt absolutely terrified and truly happy.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hope you're enjoying, thoughts are appreciated.

Celticfeather


	14. Chapter 14

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Elizabeta awoke to the sound of a gunshot.

Her malachite eyes flickered open like a candle's light as she scanned the clearing for signs of the assailant. A light coating of snow dusted the ground, attiring the trees in delicate ribbons of white frost. All dyed pink from the pre-dawn sun. She looked around, desperately fiddling for the pistol Gilbert had given her. Had the Nazis found them? She raised it before her. She wasn't entirely sure how to shoot, but she sure as hell wouldn't let the enemy know that by the determined look on her face. Not that it could be terribly difficult to blow someone's skull off from their vertebrae from only a few meters away anyway. Eliza was alone, nestled with her spine against the roots of some colossal ancient oak tree where the pair had collapsed from exhaustion the night before. They had probably ran about eight kilometers in the dark. She distinctly remembered Gilbert's strong arms wrapping around her as his back pressed against the tree, and she lay between his legs. It was the most restful sleep she had since she had left Hungary. But where was the Prussian now?

She heard a rustling in the brambles just in front of her and clicked off the safety.

"Whoa! Whoa! Eliza, as hot as you look with it, put the gun down!"

Said Prussian strode through the thorns, his own gun in his right hand; a small creature hanging limply by its ears from his left. A very dead snowshoe hare, by the looks of it.

Eliza cackled and threw the pistol down to the side as she leaped up and slung her thin arms jovially around Gilbert's neck.

 _"Ow. Liz, you're strangling me!"_ hands too full to push his smaller attacker away, Gilbert stumbled backwards. Elizabeta pinned him to the ground, laughing embarrassedly.

"I thought you were _Roderich_ at first!" she exclaimed, still flushed. She carefully pulled her hands off from the Prussian's chest as he picked himself up. He brushed the loose snow from his chest and sat up.

"Whatcha' find?" she asked.

"Breakfast. I had to find something or we won't make it much farther, even if they might have heard the shot."

Eliza nodded in agreement. She estimated they had an hour, maybe three, before the search for them started. It depended how many hours they recounted the dawn Appell before deciding the number of prisoners was not a miscount. "Yeah. Nice catch."

"You're not squeamish are you?" he asked, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

Eliza shook her head. "No. Not anymore."

He smiled and tosseled her russet hair lightly, kissing her gently on the cheek. Eliza returned the favor. Gilbert dug around in his coat and tossed her a small shiny silver box. It flashed in the sunlight as it whirled through the frosty air. Eliza caught the small metal prism in both hands and examined it.

"Gil? I didn't know you smoked?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. Although she realized why she couldn't smell it back at camp. "Start a fire, will you? I'll get started with the rabbit." he said. The razored age of his bayonet flashed in the dawn sun as he raised it to the white creature's soft abdomen. He turned away from Elizabeta.

Eliza turned the mysterious silver box around in her hand. A medieval eagle was embellished in the metal, its wings and talons flared majestically. An aquiline beak was parted at the top of the lighter where the light emerged, as if the bird himself was spewing the flames. Inset as the creature's eye was a shining red glass gem amongst its ruffled metallic plumage. She held the lighter in two fingers like a jeweler examining a diamond. It was gorgeous, like some master artisan from another time had forged it from the fires at the temple of some ancient, long dead god.

"It's beautiful…." she whispered.

"It was my father's." he said gruffly, as if that was an explanation.

Eliza nodded nodded anyway. "Are you sure it's safe to light a fire? You know, if..." her voice trailed off. A fire could be a beacon to anyone looking.

The albino's lips pressed together into a firm line. "Yeah. I thought of that, that's why I got up so early. If it was any darker, someone might be able to see the firelight. And any lighter and they'd see the smoke. Right now it's just perfect. I say we've got an hour, then we'll have to get moving again."

Eliza nodded and started hustling, snapping the dryer branches from the trees and piling them in a larger fork amongst the roots of the ancient tree. The two roots would make a good bench for them to sit on. The swampy earth around the camp was perpetually wet or frozen. She balled up tinder beneath the arm-sized sticks and released the metal eagle's fiery wrath upon the dry sward. She set another pile of branches beside her to add in later. She neatly lined a dozen or so fist-sized rocks around the small fire. Finished with her task, she looked back to the Prussian. His black leather gloves lay on the stone beside him. His hands were stained with crimson as he toiled. The same shade of red as his irises and as his-

"Gilbert…. your armband."

"What?" he asked.

"Look at it."

The silver haired male paused in his task and did as he was instructed. The red Nazi armband that adorned his bicep had been torn by something. A short slash flitted through the white circle of which the black symbol was inscribed, revealing the blue-black fabric of his SS uniform underneath. The swastika was nearly cleaved in two.

"How strange," he said. "It must have gotten torn from the wire when I crawled under the fence." The man picked at the frayed red fabric curiously to find the seam's edges were cleanly burned away.

"Another two centimeters and you'd have been fried," she noted coldly. "We were quite lucky."

Gilbert frowned. In a single fluid thrust he slid the skin from the rabbit. "It wasn't luck. I just wasn't careful, that's all." he replied brusquely. He didn't seem to like having to credit his survival to any instance of luck or misfortune. He liked thinking that whatever was going to happen to him he could stop it with his head and his own two fists. If something bad happened it was his own fault. Just as something good. Luck was never part of his picture.

Eliza fixed him with a coy and knowing stare. "You're telling me that your Nazi armband accidentally ripping at the exact moment you left the concentration camp isn't symbolic of anything?"

Gilbert grumpily only shrugged.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert was drawing in the thin powdering of snow with his boot as he sat on the tree root across from Elizabeta, the hot coals from the fire between them. The meat was almost done cooking, but Gilbert was impatient and hungry.

"I wish I had my frying pan." Eliza mused aloud, "It would speed this up a bit."

 _"Your_ frying pan? What is it, your spirit animal?" he snickered, wondering why she didn't just say ' _a'_ frying pan as opposed to hers.

"I had a favorite one back home. The boys on the street used to run away from me because I'd bash them over the head with it with it if they ever got too flirty. There was this one goofy Turkish kid, now _there_ was a bother. I'm surprised he's still functioning; all those brain-cells missing." she said with a snort.

Gilbert burst out into laughter. "And here _I_ thought girls just cooked with them! Silly me, for actually thinking of _frying pans_ as a culinary tool rather than a weapon. Especially cause, y'know...we're cooking something I just killed a half hour ago on friggin' hot coals like cavemen right now."

Eliza shoved him playfully. "You German brutes might as well be cavemen, you know. You're just happy that I didn't have my pan on me that time when you hit me with that riding crop!"

Gilbert snickered again. "I could take you on any day, weapons or not."

"You're not too gentlemanly to hurt a lady?" she purred sarcastically.

"Certainly not, my dear."

On that thought he pushed her off the tree root. She landed with a thump in the melt. There was quiet for a moment as they stared each other down, russet flames and emerald leaves, Gilbert sitting on the root and Elizabeta crouched catlike on the earth. Rather than pushing back, Elizabeta puffed a single tendril of curly bronze hair out from her lips. For some reason Gilbert wasn't entirely sure of he burst out into hoots of laughter. Then Elizabeta started chuckling too. They both laughed so hard Gilbert was afraid that they'd hear them back at Auschwitz.


	15. Chapter 15

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

Ludwig Beilschmidt stood on the edge of the cement platform, pacing nervously. The fear that pricked at his spine was an unfamiliar sensation in recent months, and he couldn't help but appeal to his soldier instincts and reach for his gun for comfort. The cold northern sun had risen lately in the sky and the Appell was already hours underway. Scores of prisoners stood at attention beneath him. It was not their usual defeated and resigned silence, he could practically taste the defiantly euphoric aura radiating off the blocks of prisoners in waves. A single word, quietly, soundlessly whispered with a glance to the man abreast him.

 _Uciec. Flucht. Flygte. Ontsnappen. Menekülés_. All the same. _Escape,_ they said.

Every single damn time they hear about a potential escape –an absence without a found body- they get this way. All inspired and whatnot.

_Well the Jewish bastards better be hoping we sort this out soon. Because they'll be standing out in the cold until we drag them back or give up._

Ludwig's thoughts were impatient with fear, but he secretly wished the escapees luck. For only he knew an iota of what was actually going on. Yet the disappearance of not only Gilbert and Elizabeta but of _Roderich too_ raised more questions than it did answers.

Gilbert far from perfect, but Ludwig knew that when his brother made a promise he kept it. Gilbert promised he would say goodbye before he left. But his brother had never come home that night. Not to mention Roderich was nowhere to be found either. He didn't hear the number of the prisoner whose body couldn't be found, but he could only assume it was Elizabeta. Something was terribly wrong. It was not uncommon for people to die on the job, but the administration always kept the bodies around for the next Appell to identify before loading them in a truck to the crematoria. In the winter a lot of people even died during the Appell itself.

His comrades kept fine records, so that had to be ruled out. Any mistake was rare. The Nazis had been known to count up dead bodies in a pit before they soaked the whole ditch in kerosene. Ludwig had been there once, with the Einsatzgruppen. He led the whole population of a small Polish town out into the woods with a hundred or so other SS men. Forced them to dig a long trench and face it. Men, women, children, infants. It didn't matter. Lined them up and shot them in the back of the head. The soldiers would throw the infants up in the air and use them for target practice. One got extra points if he could impale the small body on the bayonet of his rifle before it hit the ground. The blatant dishonor had bothered Ludwig at first, but it became easier when his friends convinced him that they weren't really people after all. They were just in the way of the Nazi's plan for a greater Germany. Therefore, for the greater good they had to go. The townspeople didn't always die right away though. Sometimes they were just wounded when they were pushed into the ditches. His friends had told him about how the ground moved eerily where the bodies were buried for a few days after. Whether if it was from wounded people moving around or just the gasses in their intestines expanding he did not know.

That had been too expensive. Wasting a bullet on every person- sheer profligacy. Especially when that bullet could be put to better use by killing some snobby Englishmen or bloodthirsty American or savage Russian soldier. That's why they came up with the concept of camps like these. Much more efficient. And one could even get some work out of the prisoners before they died.

The excitement of the crowd rose tensely, quietly, like an angry rhinoceros hidden from sight behind a veil at a circus. Just because one didn't see it didn't mean it didn't mean anything. The prisoners lined up beneath him were inspired. They knew they'd be standing out in the cold in their thin uniforms until the escapees were caught or in three days abandoned. But it was a punishment they were happy to endure.

Meanwhile, Ludwig's brother could be _dead_. Not to mention his friend was missing too. And the prisoners were _happy._ It enraged him so, to see these rats so jubilant while he –their superior- was so distraught.

He'd understand it if it was just Eliza and Gilbert missing. It meant that something had gone wrong and they had probably just escaped short notice. But Roderich, too? Did something happen to Eliza and Gilbert blamed Roderich and killed him? Did Roderich find them and shoot them both out of rage, and fled himself for fear of being persecuted for treason at shooing a fellow SS? Did Roderich discover Elizabeta and kill her, and Gilbert committed suicide?

Ludwig shivered at the thought.

"Gilbert...Please be okay..." he whispered under his breath.

He heard more anxious and excited murmurs. He could not stand not knowing what was going on. Some of the guards near him sensed the waves or irritation radiating off of him and found other parts of the Appellplatz to patrol. In a single fluid motion he pulled out his pistol and sent six rounds screaming off into the crisp air.

"Goddamnit! Will you fucking Jews just SHUT UP?!"

The shots disappeared into the calm cerulean sky. After several minutes of hushed fear and nervous glances at the SS -none daring eyecontact- the crowds returned to their whispering.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"Are you finished eating? We should get going soon, they'll have noticed your absence at the Appell."

Eliza nodded. "We should try and destroy any evidence of us staying here for long. It won't fool any hardened trackers, but it may be enough to buy us a few hours of confusion."

"Yeah, good idea," Gil confirmed.

Together the pair hastily began destroying any evidence of their campsite. Eliza scattered the ashes and coals from the fire in a nearby creek, and Gilbert buried the fur and entrails of the rabbit in the mud at its banks. Eliza tore off a long pine bough from an evergreen tree and twirled it in her hand.

"What is that for?" Gilbert asked, eyeing the branch.

Elizabeta just grinned. "Watch."

With a flick of the long pine branch she ushered Gilbert onto a boulder behind her and she herself nimbly hopped up onto the root of a tree. Holding the branch so the needles faced down, she swished it across the fresh powder snow around the campsite, effectively destroying their footprints.

"Eliza... You're a genius."

 _"I know."_ she said, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

Gilbert held an arm around her and escorted her to the edge of the creek. She jumped fleetly across and Gilbert wiped away the prints from behind her. He did the same and jumped the creek in a single bound, absorbing the shock with his knees. He left the branch on the far bank. There wasn't any sense erasing the footprints anymore while they ran, that would be too difficult. Hopefully the snow would just melt by then.

Gilbert looked off into the horizon."You ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

And with rough, long strides the two quickly resumed their journey. The sun was high and was climbing towards its zenith in the sky, casting bright rays of light across the thin coating of powdery snow. They didn't know where they were going or how long it would take to get there, all they knew was that there lay a better fate than was behind them.

* * *

For hours they had traversed the forest, their quick running capitulating into jogging and eventually into walking. The sun was low in the foggy orange sky and an eerie chill was settling around the darkening birchforest. Gilbert could tell that Eliza was nearing the end of today's reservoir of strength. She was lagging several paces behind him, and he heard her loose pants being caught on the undergrowth as she became too tired to bother dodging the forest's thorns. Her breath whirled about her face in translucent explosions of white vapor.

"Eliza, I think this is all we can do today," he said.

Elizabeta didn't waste her breath in formation of a response and collapsed against a tree.

Gilbert let her rest and started gathering firewood in the oblique rays of dusk sunlight. He didn't need too much, just an hour or so worth. It was that perfectly lit time of day again. He cleared a space in front of Elizabeta –who was lying on the ground now- and lit the small fire. She seemed happy for the warmth and leaned closer as the cold Polish night began to settle around them. Gilbert lay down next to her, conserving body heat.

"Still awake?"

"Mhm," she murmured, her green eyes reflecting in the orange firelight.

"Can you tell me what it was like for you when you arrived at camp?"

Eliza grinned dryly at the irony and sat up, tucking her knees underneath her with Gilbert still lounged about on the ground. "Now that we're _out_ of Auschwitz you want to talk about it?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Why not?"

"I came here alone, my family wasn't targeted because it was just me doing the talking. I took measures even, to make sure they weren't mixed up with me just in case something like this happened."

"Your foresight is impressive." Gilbert said, "Too bad you couldn't save yourself with it."

The quip came out of his mouth by instinct, but he regretted it.

"Gestapo showed up at our flat one night and pulled me out, kicking and cursing. They loaded me into this boxcar with a bunch of Jews. A car like what you'd bring horses, or cattle to slaughter in."

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. He was familiar with the camp. It was a job, a simple, un-dangerous one. But before the camp was a story he was not very familiar with. "And then?"

"It took three days to get here, we waited at the platform for hours, and they opened up the cart doors. The SS that met us told us to take out the dead bodies. We did, and they ushered us inside the gates. I was led towards a man who was separating people. He sent some to his left, others to his right. I noticed mothers with children under fifteen went to one side along with older or weaker looking people. Young men and a few stronger women were sent to the other. I lifted up my chin and squared my shoulders, trying to look as healthy as possible. The man –a creepy looking guy with dark hair, mid thirties maybe- asked me what my age and occupation was. I told him I worked on a farm with my father. He pointed me to the side with the strong young men and women. I won't forget the look in his eye though, he wore a white labcoat and—"

"Doctor Mengele. The Angel of Death." Gilbert said.

"Pardon?"

"He'd take twins and do experiments on them. I heard rumors…. Terrible rumors. Dying people's eyesballs… freezing them to see if he could bring them back from hypothermia…. There was a reason his lab was set up next to the crematoria."

"He sounds sick," she said.

"He was. I'm just glad I wasn't in your shoes, I don't know what parts of me he'd try to dye funny colors."

Eliza laughed. "One punch and I'm sure you'd send his scrawny head rolling off of his shoulders. You would have been fine." she stated. Gilbert laughed nervously at the image.

"I kind of want to go to sleep now." Eliza said, lying back on the grass. She crossed her arms behind her head and stared up at the stars poking through the tall straight branches of the birch trees.

Gilbert was silent.

"Command post to Gilbert? Are you there?"

Another pause, but not an awkward one.

"I was kind of hoping we could do one last thing tonight; if you'll permit it," he said, tilting his head. He grinned with sly hopefulness, his red eyes and pearly teeth glinting orange along their creases in the firelight.

Eliza eyed Gilbert curiously as he smothered the fire with his boots before removing them from his feet. With a hiss the embers died and the two were left in the dark, only each other and the stars for company. Elizabeta removed the black coat from her torso and reached down to take off her boots, displaying her slender calves in the process. She slowly pulled her thin striped shirt over her long umber curls and met his red gaze earnestly.

"I think so," she said with a sly smile, before closing the distance between them in a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his muscled torso and felt Gilbert pin her to the firewarmed ground.

* * *

**-Richard Baer-**

_SS-Sturmbannfuhre; head Commandant of Auschwitz, May 1944- January 1945._

"Heil Hitler!" A strident voice cut the air of the room, a right arm flashing up in Nazi salute. A rather nondescript private the Commandant vaguely recognized walked in the door, with brown eyes and faded blonde locks.

"Heil Hitler," Baer greeted smoothly from his desk.

He waited for a few moments as was custom before dismissing his subordinate from the doorway, the guard's arm still hanging in the silent air out of respect.

"At ease. What news did you bring me?"

"Information concerning the escape attempt and the two missing SS officers, sir. We have reason to suspect the two incidents are connected." the guard stated.

Baer's hands knitted together in front of his chin, his elbows resting neatly on the desk to form an isosceles triangle. "Continue," he ordered softly.

The guard swallowed hard, looking nervously from side to side before speaking. He seemed hesitant to look his superior in the eye. He settled for staring at the swastika banner and eagle behind his desk instead.

"We found one of our loyal SS officers concussed in a janitorial closet. He was knocked out when it happened. But he has since regained consciousness and offered us some very unusual information."

Baer remained silent, instructing the guard to continue with a glance.

"The officer, Roderich Edelstein, was beaten, bound, and robbed upon his discovery. It is completely infeasible to think that the weakened female prisoner alone could have managed to subdue him so completely had she been unarmed. But Edelstein has informed us that it was not the prisoner, but another _guard_ that did this to him. The very same guard who also went missing at the same time. Sturmmann Gilbert Beilschmidt."

The names were unfamiliar to him, but his face lit up with rage at this betrayal. "Did he reveal any possible motive?" the commandant pressed.

"Edelstein said that right before he was attacked, he saw Beilschmidt and the female prisoner behind a wall at the far edge of the Auschwitz II Birkenau women's subcamp. When he approached them they were engaging in...you get the idea, sir."

Baer raised an eyebrow.

"But the really strange thing is that Edelstein had trouble with her once before and sent her sent to the showers about two weeks prior; the records even say so. She should be ash right now," the guard continued.

"Sir we have reason to believe that the guard not only helped her do it, but escaped with her. We found a nearby hole burrowing underneath the Mexiko buildsite fence that was hatched out with marks from a soldier's bayonet."

"Is that all you have to report?"

"Yessir."

There was a long pause. "A rather poor choice on the guard's part," Baer said solemnly.

"Sir?" The guard couldn't help but ask, his voice hitching at the end with nervous curiosity.

"If he had turned her in at least he could have lived. It's not all that uncommon for guards to strike up affairs with prisoners. Never for love, of course, but for sex. Even I can accept that as a fact. But the smart ones? They kill off their little whores once it starts to make others question their loyalty. Now they're _both_ going to be crossing the River Styx."

The guard swallowed, sweating visibly from being in the presence of the commandant for so long. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "What are your orders, sir?"

"Send out the dogs by the suspected escape hole. I'll hand pick our best SS officers to accompany them. I want them _alive_. Prepare two gallows at the Appellplatz. I have reason to believe they will be of use shortly." Baer ordered.

"As you command, sir."


	16. Chapter 16

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert found himself standing in an unfamiliar place. The grass was long, lush, and green, dappled with yellow wildflowers. The sky arched above him, a beautiful cerulean framed on all sides by tall snowcapped mountains. A brisk breeze buffeted the long wildflowers which nestled against half-sunken, lichen-speckled boulders. A picturesque manifestation of beauty of which the gods themselves would be jealous, but the brisk breeze that caressed the grass carried the faint scent of something else…. a something that felt far more ominous.

_Where am I? Certainly not the birch forests outside of Birkenau. A dream,_ he thought.

He studied the dream landscape around him further. Bodies dotted the ground sporadically: halberd axes, swords, and spears were impaled in some of the cooling corpses. The bodies were attired in strange combinations of hides and furs, a handful adorned with a primitive bronze armor.

Forget _where_ am I. _When_ am I?

Gilbert heard a giggling behind him and whirled to confront the out-of-place sound. With the scent of blood on the air he found himself instinctively reaching for his rifle. But before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The woman was smiling earnestly. She was clad in full battle armor, a pair of glossy ivory wings sprouting from her shoulder blades. However, oddly in place of a sword she wielded an old-fashioned frying pan. The woman was stunning, lean, and boyishly agile. A cluster of white wildflowers were tucked in front of her left ear. Her soap polished complexion was of a light rose brown kissed by a distant southern sun. Long chestnut sea-waves of hair cascaded down the curve of her spine to roll to a stop at the base of her ribcage. But it was her verdant eyes, wide apart, darkly translucent, and like a cut emerald held the light that made her immediately likeable.

Gilbert let the firearm slide back over the thick ebony fabric of his greatcoat. He studied the carnage around him. "Are you a Valkyrie?" he asked the winged woman before him, "Am I dead?"

But she didn't answer, only giggled again. She held his hand hers, and with a flourish of those majestic swan-wings started pulling him up into the air.

"Wait! You didn't answer my question...Stop!"

* * *

The world wasn't warm and green anymore, it was gray and cold.

Gilbert thought he had woken up, but he still found the valkyrie's jade eyes staring at him. She did seem a bit different though. Her cheeks were pale and hollowed like the moon, her skin was not a warm bronze as it was before. She had lost weight. In place of her armor were thin blue and white stripped rags that hung limply over her thin frame. Her hair also didn't have the same healthy lustrous sheen. The green eyes blinked owlishly down at him.

"Gilbert? Are you awake? It's almost mid morning," the angel voice said.

"Mid….?" Gilbert questioned in disbelief.

"Yes… we kind of slept in. _"_ Eliza admitted.

"It was definitely worth it."

Gilbert said it bluntly, matter-of-factly, and Elizabeta didn't object his statements of last night. The female smiled slightly and closed her eyes, avoiding the Prussian's burgundy gaze. She twirled the toe of her shoe into the soft detritus of the forest floor before looking up again. "We should get moving. We can look for food along the way." she said.

Gilbert nodded and rolled up off of the ground. Coiled muscle rippled under pale skin in the bright winter sunlight. "No doubt they've scoured the swamp already." he confirmed. He placed a steadying hand against a birch tree and pulled on his black boots, along with the other various articles of his soldier's attire that all lay scattered around in the grass from the night before. He looped the now near-ammunitionless rifle over his back. He only had a few rounds in it, what he had just happened to have on his person the day he left. "This way." he said, motioning with his head towards the west. "There's a village somewhere there."

Together, Gilbert and Elizabeta strode off into the white birches. Yesterday's snow had melted and left the forest wet and muddy. As the pair wandered, so did Gilbert's mind. The dream was foremost on his conscious. He had never experienced something like that before. The Prussian seldom remembered his dreams… but he did this one. No; how could he forget it when its whisperings were so blatantly dangerous.

Eliza had appeared to him as a valkyrie. Or at least, that's what he thought she was. A creature of ancient mythology of ancient humans, who once roamed the very wilderness of which they now seeked refuge in. Well, before that whole Prussian convert-to-Christianity-or-we'll-invade-you kind of thing. When he joined the SS they had taught him with more seriousness than he liked about the ancient Germans and their religion. The angel women carried warriors off to Valhalla.

_Elizabeta Héderváry will be the death of me._

_Can that be true?_

_No._

_I refuse to believe it._

He kept walking blankly. No…. Dreams were just as useless and frivolous as fate. The vision was a mere wandering of his subconscious, like any other dream. If fate had something in store for him it would be himself and himself alone who would bring it crashing down upon his shoulders. There was no such thing as forewarning. And what good was the stupid thing anyway if it was too vague and riddled to figure out how to change anything.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

_"Gilbert!"_ she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been calling your name for the last minute!"

The aforementioned Prussian stopped walking and looked up suddenly, a blank look on his face. His brows were raised silently in apologetic question. Eliza almost laughed at his dopish expression. _What on Earth was he daydreaming about?_

"Shh…" Eliza slid smoothly behind a tree, and pulled Gilbert less than gracefully along with her. She held her left index finger to her soft lips, and pointed her right one into the thick low forest canopy. Or rather, the handful of plump russet silhouettes that flitted clumsily from tree to tree.

Pheasants. Gilbert nodded in understanding and silently slid into a crouch, melding into the shadows like a panther. He unhooked the rifle from his back and hefted the gleaming black metal onto his shoulder. It was carefully loaded with two of his remaining four rounds. With a wave of his gloved hand he instructed Eliza to stand away from him. Eliza held her palms over her ears as Gilbert leveled the rifle at the unsuspecting birds. But she couldn't look away; it was like watching a car crash. He closed one wine-colored eye and took meticulous aim.

_BLAMBLAM!_

Eliza looked up in time to see three of the flock flutter away with heavy, labored wingbeats and frantic chittering. Green, gold, and red feathers drifted peacefully to the ground. The shots were so much louder than in the movies. She felt her whole body reverberate down to the core of her being. It felt as if her very heart was being rattled against the prison bars of her ribcage that kept it from exploding from her chest. Every leaf on every tree trembled with trepidation as the shots were fired, as if the birches themselves feared they'd be the next to fall prey to the platinum-haired male and his black firestick. There was a flash of more red-brown feathers. Followed by two simultaneous thumps on the ground.

Slowly, she removed the hands from her ears. She released a breath she hadn't known she had even been holding. Did he hit the pheasants? Gilbert looped his rifle on his back strode silently forwards to collect the two still gamebirds. Yes, they were indeed dead. She took a moment to study them, to thank them for their lives. They looked completely unscathed, as if asleep. How could a weapon designed for destroying flesh leave the birds so untouched? She realized it was the concussion waves from the gun's release that downed the creatures. Gilbert had never intended to actually make contact with the bullets. Quite astute of him, for such a brute.

"Gilbert, that was an amazing catch!" she exclaimed.

He nodded and smiled widely at her, throwing his arms around her in celebration. His red eyes sparkled in triumph. He didn't say anything though. "Can't hear me?" she noted. Even with her ears covered it had been enormously loud. Gil didn't have that luxury, since both of his hands had been on the gun. His head was still probably ringing. He just smiled at her mutely, like a puppy with his tail thumping the ground.

"That's okay," she said, aware that the Prussian still probably couldn't hear her, "you'll understand this." She leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms behind his neck and balancing on the tips of her toes. A great wind rose and their hair, shining bronze and soft alkaline silver, streamed out mingling into the air. Yes, he understood. Their lips moved together and Elizabeta felt her heart flutter as his warm and strong arms locked protectively around her. She began to sway. She closed her eyes and felt as if the world would disappear right then. Everything could disappear into blackness and she would be happy. Happy as long as she could be with _him._ If only she could freeze this single drop in the swirling torrent of time. It was but an iota of Time's river, would the endless torrent really care if just one of his little drops stayed frozen? The current could part around them, could it not?

Eventually she felt Gilbert's castle-arms drop from around her. She felt cold when his touch left her, as if a part of her warmth had stayed with him. It was time to get moving. Off to some free place where they could be together and do this every day. She took a step to move.

And froze midstep upon hearing a dog's barking.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

The world was silent, and while in his soundless daze it only made the images more beautiful. He saw her green eyes sparkling up into his pools of fiery red, as if he could just stare into their emerald depth forever. A chromatic scale of vivid opposites. His arms slid from Eliza's back slowly, regretfully; they had to keep moving. But as he turned away he saw the emerald eyes flash and fill with green fire, the Hungarian's face suddenly twisting into a fearful grimace. In their depths he saw fear, the very most primitive fear of a hunted animal. It did not belong on a human's face for millennia. Desperation. Terror. The man's lips parted, his brows rising in question. What was wrong!? She whirled around him and started tugging frantically at his hands. She removed the birds from his fingers and replaced them with his rifle. A string of words flew from her lips, but he couldn't quite figure out what they were. The drowsy silence had faded into an incessant high-pitched ringing.

Gibberish…. Then: "Dogs! _Run!"_

What?

"The Nazis! They found us! I hear dogs!"

Eliza pulled Roderich's revolver out from her coat and started tugging on Gilbert's hands. "We have to run!" He too, heard the barking in the background. And the distant thrumming of an engine as well.

Gilbert stayed rooted. "No, we can't run. Don't you see that's their plan? They'll scare us into running, they know they're faster than we are! Then we'll be too tired to resist when they catch up to us."

Eliza's eyes watered as pained desperation filled her voice. "Then what _can_ we do?!"

"I….I…" Gilbert's mind raced. They couldn't run. That would mean capture. They couldn't hide, eventually the hounds would sniff them out. There weren't even any animal carcasses or droppings around that they could use to disguise their scent. Except for the pheasants, but those were too small and too fresh. He dropped their bodies on the ground.

"There's only one thing we _can_ do…." Gilbert locked his knees and looped his rifle from his back. The barking increased in volume and proximity. He slid in his only two remaining shots. Elizabeta's pistol held six. Roderich had used two when they found them. If it was fully loaded, she should still have four rounds left. "You know how to shoot yours?"

Eliza nodded hesitantly. "Y-Yes. But we can't shoot at the dogs… they don't _know…"_

Gilbert's lips pressed into a firm line. He shook his head slowly. His eyes shone coldly, mercilessly. It was the steely gaze of the soldier hardened in the brutal forges of Ares. The Prussian's gaze was without bloodlust, but also completely devoid of emotional hesitation at killing the dogs. He took a protective step in front of Elizabeta. "What makes the dog different from the pheasant?" They both need to die for them to survive.

Shakily, Eliza raised the revolver with both hands before her. More barking, the dogs were excited now as they loped closer to their prey. But it was not the dogs that scared her, no; but the silent human soldiers who would be arriving behind them. She stared down the short barrel, locking into the tiny guiding peak at the end, her fingers lacing around the cold trigger. The female slid into a defensive crouch and bit her lower lip until she tasted the salty tang of blood. It put her back into focus. The determination radiating off of Gilbert in waves inspired her, and she would not go down without a fight either. She stared fixedly at the line of bushes that concealed their approaching pursuers from view. No, if they took her, she would die with the satisfaction of knowing she took a few goddamned Nazis to hell with her. Eliza only hoped Roderich's was the first face she saw striding through those bushes. She would riddle it with holes until it was unrecognizable.

Gilbert felt his heart beating in his chest, spreading adrenaline through his cold veins. He swallowed. The dogs were so close he could hear their panting. They were just on the other side of the bushes, a handful of meters away. The distance was closing with every passing second, but it seemed time had slowed to a crawl. He remembered looking slowly to Eliza, who stood poised at his side. She smiled. It was such a beautiful smile...

Then Hell broke loose through the thorns.

Suddenly a yelp, and the black and brown pelt of a German shepherd leaped through the thorns. A metal chain swung from its throat from where its master had released it. It wasn't just a tracking dog, no, he realized then that this was an attack dog. It was trained to be a soldier as much as Gilbert was. God, the massive thing must have weighed more than Elizabeta. The hound's tail swung out behind it to balance every stride, toned muscles rippling under dark fur. Leaves flew in its wake, along with soft black earth that was shredded and hurled into the air by the canine's blunt dewclaws. Barking streamed cacophonously from between glistening ivory canine teeth. Saliva swung in loops from a dagger-studded maw. Four more dogs streaked out of the bushes from either side of the alpha for a total of five.

Gilbert heard a shot. Eliza had hit at one of the dogs in the hip and it sank howling to the ground. The other four were unfazed and split, two flying at Gilbert and two at Elizabeta. Gilbert leveled his gun and narrowed his crimson eyes to slits. No, he would not be so merciful. He aimed the long barrel of his rifle down the throat of the nearest shepherd to Eliza and fired. The dog's body took a half-step and collapsed to the ground. Without its head. The muddy, oversaturated earth ran in sanguine red.

Eliza shot him a look of thanks before raising her pistol again. Gilbert heard human shouting and approaching bootclicks, and turned to face the noise.

That momentary distraction was what caused him to be butted to the ground by about eighty kilos of pure muscle and momentum as two dogs sprang at him in unison.

Instinctively, Gilbert raised his left forearm to block his throat from the razored canine teeth that flashed towards his most vulnerable area. Oh God it hurt. Red sprayed like a fountain from his ruptured arteries as the vice like jaws clamped around the obstructing appendage. His gun clattered to the ground on his side. He heard Eliza scream. He felt the second dog rip at him too. He felt the fangs of the first slit through the flesh of his forearm as if it were butter, the weight of both shepherds pinning him to the ground. The human's heart beat frantically, unknowingly pumping its host's life out of the lacerated arteries even faster. He saw his own blood soak and drip from the dog's black gums, but the taste only seemed to encourage the beast further with the thrill of the hunt. Gilbert snarled in rage.

_I am not some fucking deer for you fucking mutts to fucking kill!_ He swung a hard fist at the second dog's muzzle who, dazed, collapsed on the ground in a graceless heap. The first dog still had all four paws digging into his chest, teeth shredding into the arteries of his wrist and crisscrossing his torso with clawmarks. He tasted the beast's hot breath spewing from its nostrils into his eyes. Gilbert's lips twisted up into a snarl of his own as he looked the dog in its intelligent umber eyes. But right now defiance was about all the Prussian could manage. Sure, adrenaline dulled the pain, but it didn't work so well if the blood that it should have been dissolved in was sprayed all over his chest and the ferocious creature that stood atop him.

He gritted his teeth. He looked over to Elizabeta, who was standing now, her gun on the ground, struggling between two guards that restrained either arm. She hissed and kicked at them, reaching fruitlessly for the firearm that lay out of reach on the ground. The Hungarian screamed in helpless rage, hysteria shattering her voice up through the octaves. Clear and true like the cry of a falcon through the din of battle. From the ground Gilbert saw her arch her neck towards one of the guard's gloved hands and bite into the flesh between his thumb and index finger. He released her, if only for a moment. Elizabeta did not waste any time breaking from the other guard and rolled onto the ground for the gun. With both hands she aimed it at the hound that stood on Gilbert's chest. But before she could complete the shot the two soldiers crushed the frail woman mercilessly into the ground.

Some other guards were standing in the shadows of the trees, having just arrived. Gilbert's clouding gaze locked on one soldier in particular. The soldier's lips were parted in shock and fear. Blue eyes were wide with distress. Gilbert fought to take a breath with the dog's weight crushing his lungs and opened his mouth.

"Ludwig…Help...Please."


	17. Chapter 17

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

Ludwig stood struck still, hypnotized by the clouding gaze of his brother.

"Ludwig…Help...Please..."

The words were so _frail_ , so _weak_ , they seemed out of place coming from the bloodied lips of his shaking brother. Desperation and pleading layered the words. Ludwig was afraid. Torn. He did not know what to do. He had done a lot for Gilbert... but this? This he could not do. Even if he did help right now there were too many other soldiers around and he would just be labeled a traitor as well. He would have to bide his time. To save him some other way.

"Gilbert, I'm sorry.. I….I…"

There was a moment of hesitation in Gilbert's gaze. Ludwig identified it as betrayal. But it quickly evaporated. His older brother just looked at him and smiled. It was an understanding smile, as if to say 'It's okay.' After everything Gilbert had done for him —been his role model since the death of their father— Ludwig couldn't help him in his one moment of dire need. Gilbert ceased his thrashing and slipped into unconsciousness. The smile was still plastered on his pale face.

A sudden rage filled Ludwig, sent his blood boiling and singing through his veins like a phoenix. He opened his mouth in a snarl and screamed. "Somebody call that dog off him right now!"

Hastily, one of the dog trainers barked a command and the functioning two dogs loped back to him, as if nothing was wrong. They looked at the trainer, expecting to receive pats on the head but the animals received none. The trainer was shocked into silence and stared fixedly at what was going on around him. Ludwig was high up, but as a man not twenty-two, nowhere near the top of command on this mission. His superiors brought him along for skilled muscle, not to give orders. However, right now his insubordination was the last thing on his mind.

He looked to Elizabeta, who was let kneeling off the ground by the two soldiers after they had tied her arms behind her back with rope. She had stopped struggling when Gilbert fell unconscious, staring at the scene with watery green eyes. Ludwig looked at her apologetically. _I'm so sorry, Elizabeta._

Ludwig walked to his brother and knelt down beside him. He lowered his ear to his chest and listened. Yes, his heart was still beating. He was completely unconscious, but his red eyes stared out sightlessly. Ludwig pressed them closed gently with his two fingers. He pulled his knife from his belt and tore off a long part of the white undershirt underneath his uniform.

"Scharführer Beilschmidt…" a voice stammered, breaking the silence, "I don't think you should be so merciful to the traitor."

Ludwig looked up. It was just a kid speaking, probably not out of his teens. "That _traitor_ is my brother," he said, his voice layered thick with venom as he eyed the smaller boy. "And if you don't shut the hell up right now I'll gut you like a fish."

The kid became quiet and took a step back. The blond felt the leader of the mission –the equivalent of a Lieutenant Colonel- stare at him staidly, his chin raised and a frown on his face. But the older man did not object. His orders from the commandant were to take the prisoners _alive_.

Ludwig tore off the strip of white cloth and gingerly lifted his brother's forearm to stem the flow of blood. He noticed then that Gilbert's armband had a neat slice through it that cleaved the swastika in two. He wondered if it was done purposefully. He peeled back Gilbert's sleeve and wrapped the cloth gently around Gilbert's pale arm and tied the ends tightly together. The white fabric was quickly stained red, but it would at least help staunch the bloodflow long enough for a clot to form. Ludwig stood up and softly grabbed Gilbert's shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position.

"You there, Private. Grab his feet and help me bring him into the truck," he ordered at the man that was already terrified of him. Far more efficient to get things done with an appropriate amount of fear. He then turned to the Lieutenant Colonel and looked him evenly in the eye. "I can partake in a blood transfusion the moment we return to camp. I trust you will make the necessary arrangements."

His superior nodded slowly through slitted eyes and did not object. The Lieutenant Colonel barked an order his swimming head did not bother to hear, made an about face and started walking back in the direction of which they came. The dozen or so soldiers followed suit.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Her two captors ushered her out of the clearing and towards a nearby dirt road where two army trucks were parked. _That must be how they caught up to us so quickly,_ she thought. _They used the dogs to find our general direction. Then predicted our trajectory and found an adjacent road and caught up to us._ It sounded so simple in her head that she was infuriated. Her hands were bound together behind her back with rope and she was thoroughly bruised. But the injuries she sustained were nothing compared to what Gilbert had. She thought of that big dog standing over him, slavering jaws digging into him and shuddered. Two army trucks were parked on the muddy forest road, the wagony type whose backs were covered with long green canvass covered tops. The soldiers and dogs filed into the one behind her and she saw them lay Gilbert down across the long wooden benches that lined either side of the interior. Ludwig sat next to him and elevated his limp arm on his lap; no doubt to slow the blood pressure to that area. The other guards looked at him with wary confusion.

One of the guards kicked her from behind as she approached the first truck. "Quit snooping and get in the truck already, girl!"

More by force than by choice, the two guards led her into the back of the other truck and tied her arms against the bench. She did not resist. She couldn't pass for German and she didn't speak a word of Polish: there was little survival in escaping alone. She'd stick around and play nice until she could figure out a way to get them _both_ safely out. Or die. The guards seemed to sense this, and after a moment of muttering, ditched her in the back of the truck alone, preferring to sit in the padded seats in the front than bump around in the back pretending to guard a tied-up weakling. Eliza was surprised though, to find that she wasn't the only prisoner in the truck.

"Hej, kto do cholery jesteś?"

The voice didn't get an answer. It quickly switched to another language.

"Yo, like, what's with the SS coat?"

A boy —perhaps about nineteen— was laying on his stomach along one of the benches, his head propped up comfortably by his elbows. Straight blonde hair reached down past his ears and curled slightly around his chin. His eyes were even greener than hers were and held a confident naiveté. His legs bent at the knee behind him and crossed each other girlishly. If Eliza hadn't known better, she would have thought the boy was trying to seduce her. He looked down at her superiorly. As if he was a king –for he had been here for a whole few hours more- and the musty cargohold of the army truck was his throneroom.

"Hellooo! I was like, talking to you."

Eliza swallowed blood, not in the mood to talk. "Hi."

"Yeah, like, ' _hi_ ' yourself. Who are you?" the boy asked. Well, it was more like a command. The boy's German was not masterful: he placed the stresses on the wrong syllables, got the genders wrong and seldom remembered his accusative tense endings. But he projected in spite of it an air of intellectual superiority.

"My name is Elizabeta-" she began slowly, but the engine started and she felt herself lurch against the wooden bench, cutting off her speech. Her companion did not wait, though.

"Ya? Feliks Łukasiewicz is my name. Warsaw. Howdja land yourself in here?"

"It's a long story, and kind of a fresh one…"

"That's okay, you don't have to like, tell me right now. Where are you from? You don't look like you're from Krakow." Feliks observed.

"I'm all the way from Hungary, actually." she clarified.

"Whoa…I'm like, really hungry too, but that doesn't give you the right to start complaining."

Elizabeta sighed and pulled her knees up to fit comfortably on the rickety bench. It looked like it was going to be a _long_ ride.

"Gosh, Lizzie, you seem like, all beat up and stuff. What happened?" Feliks asked, concern lacing his tenor voice.

Elizabeta nodded, noting how this strange boy who she barely knew had already given her a nickname. But the stranger's concern warmed her, if only slightly. "I escaped the camp with a guard." she answered "They sent out dogs and recaptured us. We fought back as best as we could."

The Pole nodded, a flicker of remorse shadowing his bubbly green gaze. "Wow, I'm like, really sorry… Was the guard you escaped with the bloody pale guy who got loaded into the other truck by the blonde bicep-with-legs?"

Eliza nodded sadly. The Pole scooted closer to her comfortingly. "So like, a _German!?_ They're so _beastly_. _Totally_ not fun people to hang out with. I had this one German friend once, and he yelled at me when I told him it would be really fun if we could throw a slumber party and watch _Gone with the Wind!_ I'm totally curious how a nice lady like you got mixed up with a brute like that. You'll have to tell me _all_ about it."

"It was a rough start. He beat me with a crop the third time he spoke to me." She barked out a coarse laugh.

The young Pole started chuckling. She knew she should be annoyed, but it made her feel a little better. The goofy boy in the back of the truck took her mind off of things. "Like, a riding crop? Really? I seriously love ponies. Those things should totally be like, abolished or something!" the blond boy exclaimed, attempting to throw his arms up into the air for emphasis, but he couldn't.

Elizabeta started laughing along with him, before turning more somber. "Speaking of which, Feliks, you never did tell me how you got mixed up in this. In this truck, I mean."

"I've been without a home since August. I was hiding out in the ruins of a nearby town. Most of the people there had been deported, but I like, made it look like I ran away so they ignored my name on the records. So I just stayed there for a while, walking around the abandoned houses and stealing any food people left behind. These trucks passed through it last night when my guard was like, down and saw me moving between houses."

Eliza was quiet. "I'm sorry, Feliks. The trucks probably wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me and Gilbert."

"Gilbert?"

"The guard I escaped with."

"Oh…" he said.

There was quiet for a while. She stared out at the scenery flashing by her. The parallel gray white tree trunks blurred in front of an everpresent swamp. She looked out the back of the truck to the one behind her. Gilbert would be in that one.

"You do know where you're going, right?" Eliza spoke up softly, "to Auschwitz?"

"Well, yeah, it's like, 1944. _Everybody_ in Poland knows that our citizens disappear into camps and don't come out. We heard rumors at first and we all thought they were crazy… we didn't want to believe them. But as the war went on they became more and more believable."

Elizabeta nodded. "Just…make sure you walk to the right when you get there, okay? Even if you have to switch sides. And don't go in any showers if you see young children going in there with you."

The Pole quirked an eyebrow. "Gee lady, you sure do say some strange things. But I'll keep that in mind."

"You don't seem very worried, all things considered," Eliza warned.

"Well yeah, people _do_ tell me that a lot. Why waste time worrying, right? But that's not why I'm so relaxed in this case."

"Why?"

"I hear that the Russians will, like, be here soon. Couple days, weeks. I'll just have to hang on for a little bit longer, and then we won't have to worry about the Germans anymore."

Eliza blinked owlishly. How long had she been out of the loop of the world? Did Feliks have access to a radio recently? No doubt he did, with all those abandoned houses he had been slinking around. Hopefully he could hijack a radio and understood the foreign stations accurately, since there weren't any reliable Polish based stations anymore.

She felt a bump and looked around.

"Oh, looks like we're here." Feliks chirped, his voice ringing with childish curiosity. "Arbeit macht frei?" he read, as the trucks flashed under the gates "Work makes free? Is that true?"

Elizabeta shook her head. "Free unto death."

Feliks pouted, his brows slanting low over his eyes. "I thought so. Damned Huns."

The engines stalled to a stop and the truck lurched to a halt on the cement. She stared out the back of the canvas. They had arrived back in Auschwitz I, not Birkenau II anymore. The prisoners she saw here were only men, and barracks were two stories of heavy brick, the fences triple layered, with skulls and crossbones spray painted on wooden signs around them. Auschwitz I was small and developed, and looked not at all like the makeshift and rushed wooden huts that rose from the swamp and stretched the mile of the Birkenau expansion. Feliks coiled out of his horizontal position and sat up, his head cocking birdlike to the side. The two heard footsteps coming from around the side of truck and peered anxiously towards the noise. Four guards appeared. One slid a knife out of his pocket and boarded the truck, shaking it slightly which each step. He cut the young Pole away first, then Elizabeta. The coils of rope fell away at her feet like tresses of blond hair. The guard shoved her roughly upwards by the collar of her uniform. A second came in and led Feliks out.

"Bye, Lizzie." Feliks chirped, as he too was led down the back end of the truck. "I'll see you later, maybe."

"Goodbye Feliks. It was nice meeting you. Remember what I said…. And thank you."

The boy smiled sweetly. "Yeah, see ya." He waved, and the guard led him away. He disappeared into a throng of new people as Elizabeta was ushered in the opposite direction.

"See ya." she whispered. But a creeping feeling of doubt curling around her chest told her that she likely wouldn't be seeing the boy alive again.

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert awoke to the passing of a silhouette. Cheery whistling echoed against the walls as the young person walked by, pushing a mop and dancing slightly. Uncut shoulder-length blonde hair streamed out with every movement until the green eyed, striped uniformed, young janitor disappeared around the corner.

It was cold and he was alone. The Prussian was lying in a cot. Rather, a thin stained straw mattress hastily thrown over a wooden board. Where was he?

This wasn't right. He was in the woods, fighting alongside Elizabeta. Where was _she_ , anyway? Then dogs came after them and attacked them. He and Elizabeta had shot at them. He remembered dropping his guard for a brief moment and one of the beasts had…

His injuries!

Gilbert felt fine, really. That fact alone made a shiver run down his spine. Things that were too good to be true probably were. He had expected to wake up thirsty and half-bled onto the ground, if at all. He wasn't even hungry. He really couldn't be dead. Because it was way too cold and quiet for him to be in hell.

He held up his emaciated forearm to his face in the dim light. It was crisscrossed by the delicate pattern of unbloodied white gauze, but he couldn't tell how old the dressing was. That wouldn't explain how he felt so fine though, his head should be throbbing and he should at least parched. He had lost enough blood for him to start swimming in it.

That's when the Prussian noticed a bandage on the crook of his left elbow. Sensing no open wound, he gingerly started pulling away at it with careful strokes of his white fingers. A small purple pinprick buried itself in a blue vein that arched close to the surface of his ivory skin.

 _A blood transfusion?_ Who gave enough of a damn to bother about his wellbeing as that.

The blue-eyed, blond-haired answer arrived to him quickly. Had he done the transfusion willingly? Gil knew they had the same exact blood type. Or was Ludwig forced into giving blood whether he liked it or not, just so they could keep Gilbert alive for the show?

But his brother had said sorry, right before he passed out. But never clarified exactly where his allegiance lay after Gilbert had made the final betrayal to the Nazi party. Did he owe his life to his younger brother after all? He shook his head to clear it. He couldn't deal with all of this right now. Pushing his own anatomy out of his mind, Gilbert began to study what was around him. He was filthy, as his captors hadn't even bothered to take him out of his uniform. He thumbed around on his person to notice that anything that could have been used as a weapon or tool was confiscated. No rifle. No pistol. No combat knives. Not even the thick SS dagger that was primarily for show anyway. His hand found its way to his left breast pocket, desperately probing for what he knew should have been in there. The single cyanide capsule that was standard issue to his regiment.

Gone.

Gilbert wouldn't have used it unless absolutely necessary, but the fact that his captors had forbidden him the privilege to take his own life meant they were only keeping him alive for one reason.

The walls and floor of his cell were made of dusty cement, and the only light came from the short barred square window that hugged the ceiling, arranged much like in a basement underground. Gray light streamed through these windows, as if it were dawn. The round, recently-invented fluorescents that hung from the ceiling with their sterile hum of light had not yet been lit. He was in a small room, bare except for a wooden toilet in the corner facing the bars, with walls surrounding three sides. Long metallic bars formed small rectangles across the open side, where he stared across a hallway into two rooms just like his. Only the platforms in the others didn't have mattresses on them.

He knew where he was: this was Block 11. It was in the notorious corner of Auschwitz I, with a shooting wall adjacent, where prisoners who were involved in crimes and escapes were interned until their deaths. But given as he was not a prisoner, he assumed the case of himself and Elizabeta was unique while their captors figured out exactly what to do with them. But where was Elizabeta? Did the Nazis choose to separate them? Or had they done away with her already?

He shivered at the thought. But he felt –he knew- that she was alive. He'd sense it if she wasn't.

In the dim light, his eyes locked on a lean form propped against the wall opposite his cell. The form seemed to sense his gaze and stepped forward. Its boots clacked like the cocking of pistols on the hard stony floor. Violet eyes peered at him from the other side of the bars.

"Has the princess finished her beauty sleep?"

 _"Roderich."_ Gilbert greeted coldly, stretching out the first syllables on his tongue. "What's a snobby neat-freak like you doing associating with us mortals?"

"Nice to see you too. I always knew I'd see you behind bars one day. Never in my dreams like this, though," the Austrian purred, pacing the bars like a hungry cat outside the hole of a mouse. "How is death row treating you?"

"Yeah? Just fine. Now unless you have some information I might want, I'd kindly appreciate it if you took the hell off." Gilbert hissed, in a fluid motion rolling off the bed to stare the shorter man in the face. The action sent the bars spinning at irrational angles. How long had he been laying down? Hours? Days?

"My, my! Dear Gilbert, certainly _that's_ not a way to speak to a friend. Especially not one who has brought you a gift." The Austrian's voice was positively dripping with sarcasm, but if Gilbert was vexed by it he did not let it show. He was still mulling over the brunette's second sentence.

"A gift?" the albino asked suspiciously, one silver brow raised above the other.

"Yes, quite. Have a look for yourself." The Austrian pulled something out from inside his coat and slid it between the bars of the cell, which Gilbert quickly snatched away.

He turned the entity over in his hand. He felt Roderich's vivisecting stare examine him, but the Prussian paid it no heed. The object appeared to be a black sheathe of fabric; so dense a grain that it let no light through whatsoever. Not unlike a ski mask, but instead of having separate holes for the eyes and mouth, it seemed to only have a smaller one in the center, as if for the nose. The fabric was heavy and dark. It was almost like a football-sized bag; with a drawstring around the edges to pull it closed. It couldn't be much use holding anything with that hole in the middle of it, though. His brows knitted together in concentration.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize it, Gilbert." Roderich asked in disbelief.

"Can't say I do." Gilbert replied evenly.

At this admittance a cruel grin curled across the Austrian's usually placid features as he turned his head away from the Prussian. He closed his eyes halfway and looked at Gilbert through his long brown lashes. "Tell me now, you don't recognize your own hangman's hood?"

Gilbert dropped the fabric as if it were poisonous, as if the frigid shiver that ran up his spine had pried his very fingers loose.

The evil black fabric cascaded into a gentle, unassuming heap on the floor. Roderich Edelstein just laughed, the harsh sound echoing cacophonously around the prison corridors. "Oh come now, be grateful! I hear they're not giving Elizabeta one! You are a Nazi after all! Or at least you _were_ one. Can't have your face rotting off for everyone to see. You do deserve _some_ respect, after all."

Gilbert picked up the hood and hurled it through the bars at the Austrian. Roderich caught it delicately against his chest. He slowly folded it back up into a neat square before stowing the thick fabric back in his coat. "Temper, temper. Is this how mercy is rewarded?"

Gilbert stared threateningly at him, not saying anything. Roderich took this as another invitation to talk. "The orchestrators of these things don't like using them, you know. You should feel honored. It adds so much to the show when the person's face is uncovered. What better canvas for catalyzing and demoralizing human emotion than the face?"

"What did you say about Elizabeta? I know you've been talking to her." Gilbert ordered.

Rodrich smiled. "Oh, I learned a few things. I was chosen to…. how should I say? _interrogate_ her earlier."

Gilbert all but threw himself against the bars, red eyes flashing in rage. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the bars, his face just inches away from Roderich's sneer. He flashed his teeth angrily. "Roderich Edelstein, if you raped her, I swear to God I will slit your heart out and eat it!"

The Austrian merely chuckled, reasonably unfazed by his captive's rage. "Oh no, certainly I would never do something so _vulgar_. Even a brute such as yourself would know me well enough for that. Especially _your_ little wench, God knows what diseases you gave her."

"Y-you…. You beat her?"

"Gilbert, I think we _both_ know what the word 'interrogation' means to the Nazis. It is not the same as the dictionary definition by the means of which one acquires the information."

Gilbert was eerily quiet. His red eyes shone with malice. "I don't know _how_ , I don't know _when_ : but I'll reimburse tenfold upon on you what you have done to her."

"Sounds like a threat," Roderich mused, and thumbed the heavy black baton that hung from a loop on his belt. "I needn't remind you of the compromising position you are in, do I?"

Gilbert snarled up at him challengingly. "It's not a threat, it's a promise. Unlock that door _, I dare you_. Weapons or not. I'll paint the goddamn walls in your blood right now."

Roderich pursed his lips, taking a calculated step backwards. "As much as I would like to, it wouldn't be fair of me to rob the gallows of their fun and kill you right now. No, I'm sure my superiors would not approve of that."

Gilbert recognized an excuse when he heard one. Even with his club, if Roderich wasn't with a gun he wasn't sure he could subdue Gilbert. At least, not sure enough to stake his life on it. The Prussian allowed himself a small, victorious grin.

"She did tell me some interesting things, though." Roderich said, not losing his superior position. "About how you snuck her away before she even got in the gas chambers. Also about how your _dear brother_ found out and tried to turn you in for it. How does it feel to be betrayed by the ones you thought cared about you, hm?"

_What? That's not ..._

A smile crept across Gilbert's face, equally cruel. Roderich hadn't figured out that Elizabeta had been lying through her teeth. Oh, what a delightfully clever girl. She wouldn't let Roderich win against her, even if the information she possessed was of little use to him anyway.

"Ah, I can't believe she…." Gilbert's voice was layered with defeated melancholy. His eyes fled down to stare at the damp gray floor.

"Quite. A few hits and the girl sang like a bird." Roderich said proudly "How does it feel to have your allies abandon you? To betray a noble cause you both supported? Your love?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed expertly "Just shut the hell up, will you?"

The Austrian just snickered, crossing his arms. "Very well then, I guess you've had enough for today. I'll send someone by with some fodder later. I'll be checking up on you two for the next couple of days, so don't do anything stupid."

"Good riddance." Gilbert grunted, as he heard Roderich's footsteps disappear down the corridor.

* * *

He leaned back in his cot, crossing his arms behind his head as his back pressed against the uncomfortable mat. He had to figure out how to escape. How to get in communication with Elizabeta, wherever she was, probably in some other wing of the prison. He sighed, calculating his advantages. At least they seemed to think that Ludwig was completely on their side, given what Elizabeta slipped to Roderich about him trying to turn them in. But he wasn't sure if he could help them, even if he wanted to. Ludwig was grudgingly accepting of his relationship with Elizabeta… but then it didn't directly interfere with his political allegiance with the Nazi Party. Now that it has, had he crossed the borders of his loyalty after he ran away with Elizabeta? Did Ludwig volunteer to go on the recovery mission or was he forced to? Not to mention he had to be pretty mad about Gilbert killing all of those dogs, given how affiliated he was with them.

A soft rapping on the edge of his cell broke him from his train of thought. He sat up from the bed. "Roderich, if that's you again I swear I'll-"

But as he peered up he saw the creator of the noise was another man, donned in a striped threadbare uniform. The same boy who woke him up mopping the floor earlier. He still had hair, he probably wasn't a Jew. Gilbert raised an accusing white eyebrow questioningly. And _just who the hell are you?_

The blond met his gaze somewhat nervously, but his voice was not malicious. "Y-Your name. It wouldn't happen to be, like, Gilbert by any chance…. Right?"

"That is my name." Gilbert said slowly, "Why does it concern you?"

"I was just like, wondering."

"There's something you're not telling me, boy." He wasn't afraid to throw his weight around. Traitorous and behind bars as he was, he was still an ex-guard of Auschwitz, and just the sight of his black uniform produced a fearful respect from any prisoner. He stood up to face the man on the other side of the bars, his silver brows slanted low over his scarlet eyes. Their unusual color had proven to have a useful, intimidating, factor. One that the Prussian never hesitated to utilize to his advantage.

"I met Elizabeta on the way in here. In the truck." the boy said "They put her in this like, prison. But no one was in there before you two got here, and you know what neat freaks the Nazis are. They told me my job would be to mop the floors and clean the place. Like, seriously? What a stupid job. And two: don't call me _boy_ \- my name is Feliks. What are you anyway, like, twenty-five?"

Gilbert gasped, his previous suspicion along with anything else the prisoner said was forgotten "You saw Elizabeta?! Where is she? Is she alright?"

"Ya, ya, she's fine. Well, physically. I saw her in a cell when I was cleaning the upstairs wing. She was, _well_ ….

"Spit it out, will ya, Feliks? Gilbert growled.

"She was crying."

Crying.

For some reason, that notion hurt Gilbert even more than hearing that Roderich had beaten her. She had won at that. But the crying. Something emotional had gripped her, something that she wouldn't fake. Given how emotionally strong the young Hungarian woman was he couldn't fathom why. Sure, it was sad that they were captured, but she was prepared for that the moment she stepped outside the camp with him.

"Do you know why?" the albino asked, with slightly more respect.

"No, the dark haired music-loser with the mole just said something to her when I heard them talking yesterday. I couldn't hear exactly what it was. But she was really, like, all shaken up. Poor girl."

Gilbert was quiet. What was so wrong with his Elizabeta? He glanced up at the young Pole earnestly. He was an alright kid, for sticking his neck out to inform him of what was going on. "You'll tell her that I'm alright next time you see her, right? And if she's okay?"

"Of course I will, Gil. Hey, that like, totally rhymes. Ha-ha."

"I'm serious. Let me know if anything happens to her. Or anything else you find out."

"Totally. I should like, probably get going now. Or you crazy Germans will notice that this place isn't clean enough because I've been talking for like, two seconds instead of working. See ya Gil."

"Yeah, bye. Stay alive Feliks."

The boy smiled and skipped around the corner.


	19. Chapter 19

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

He traversed the concrete somewhat nervously between the hallway's empty cells. Ludwig was mindful not to make any noise. He _was_ on break, so no one could _technically_ yell at him for being here, but he couldn't help but be nervous. It was easy to connect the dots and realize that the young Nazi was looking for his brother. His superiors seemed wholeheartedly convinced of his loyalty for some reason, which was good. Not like they had any reason to otherwise, for Ludwig had always fulfilled the chain of command with precision and even enthusiasm. But they probably expected him to be somewhere else on his break. With the brothels or in the lounge with the other guards, perhaps. Well, he never liked how it always reeked of cigarettes in the lounge. They probably just thought he'd be reading in his barracks, as he did occasionally. No one checked there.

Suddenly, a hand firmly prodded at his shoulder. Ludwig jumped a half-foot in the air.

"Like, uh hey, you-" a voice asked, retracting a hand as Ludwig whirled.

The first thing Ludwig noticed was the striped uniform.

And he subsequently smashed its wearer into the wall.

"Next time, you should do better than address a commanding officer as 'you', _Jew."_ he hissed, hoisting the boy up into the air by his collar. The prisoner's feeble struggles were useless. Ludwig almost laughed at the blond boy's pitiful squirming for his worthless life.

He needed to expose of this witness quietly. Last time it only took twenty seconds. He curled his thick arm around the fragile throat. _"Too bad you_ won't _be getting a next time."_

"Gilbert!" the boy choked, his feet kicking liked a hanged man's. "Your brother.."

Ludwig dropped the boy, who clattered gracelessly to the ground like a burlap sack of potatoes.

"If you think your life is worth more than the worthless kilogram of ash that it is: you'll tell me everything that you know. _Right. Fucking. Now."_

The boy met his sapphire gaze, winded and horrified. The gasps were loud and his cold fingers began to massage his bruised neck. It was clear he could not yet speak. "I came to ask you…. To see if I could, like, maybe…. Help," he stammered.

Ludwig kicked the boy with his boot. "Stand."

The boy did so, nervously avoiding Ludwig's piercing blue gaze by looking sideways at the ground. He was still pressed up close against the cement by the tall, barrel-chested German who had began to strangle him.

"What are you called." More of an order, than a question.

"One seven eig- F-Feliks…. Feliks Łukasiewicz."

"And why did you approach me."

"I was captured in the truck too. I heard you were Gilbert's brother. I was talking with him earlier. I made friends with Elizabeta and… well… like… I don't know. If you were on their side, I wanted someone to like, help them…us."

"You're brave, boy. I would have wrung you dead."

Feliks gulped. "Just to let you know, I'm catholic."

The soldier looked from side to side, warily scanning the abandoned prison hallway for any signs of ears. No one else was around to listen. He lowered his voice to a rough whisper. "Of _course_ I want to help them. They'll be hanged in front of the whole camp otherwise!"

The boy nodded, his head bobbing like a jackhammer. His nervousness seemed to slip away, to be replaced with a blithe grin. "Good, Good! We couldn't just like, leave them there, to like, die! That'd be terrible!"

"Yes…What is it that you came here to say?"

"Lizzie's in cell 107, on the far end of this wing. She's hurt, the Austrian guy interrogated her. He's got a whole ring full of keys on his belt and seems to be in charge of this operation of keeping them until their sentence. Gil's in 8, in the basement. He's alright, he just woke up yesterday. They make me work here and live up top so if you need anyone to like, do anything..."

"I see."

"I'll be here. Come see me if I can help…. Like, don't hesitate, okay?"

Ludwig nodded. "Yes. Keep it silent around anyone else, other prisoners included. They'll sell you out. I'll meet you here tomorrow at this time and let you know when I can use you." Yes.. It looked like he would be needing to acquire the keys of a certain Roderich Edelstein first….

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

She sat atop the thin stained mattress, fiddling absent-mindedly with the soup she had been given with her spoon. It was watery and brown, likely consisting of turnips or cabbage or some other less-than-delectable winter wartime slop. Maybe the sinews or viscera of some type of animal who happened to have died that day too, cold and tired like she was. She had already eaten the bread they had given her, the same types of food that they distributed every morning while she was working as a prisoner. She wondered briefly if Gilbert was faring any better.

She sighed longingly at the thought of him, before being assaulted by sorrow again. She thought back to what Roderich had asked her, before his little torture session had gotten started. She didn't mind it all that much, it was amusing to see Roderich try to break her. His clubbing had hurt, but it had hurt a lot more the first time Gilbert had smashed her arm with a riding crop. But eventually she decided she'd feign giving in to his questions and feed him some false information. It wasn't any use to him exactly how they escaped now that they already had, but why not screw him up anyway.

But what bothered her –what haunted her- before any of that started was the first question he had asked her opinion on. He allowed her a _choice_ on the matter, as if it was a mercy. It was a decision she did not want. She thought back to what happened the other day.

xxxxx

The harsh bass thunk of the key turning in the metal lock broke her thoughts away from the evening's scheming.

"Héderváry Elizabeta."

She was unnerved by the correctness of the Hungarian, with her name in the right order. A man had strolled into the small prison cell they had confined her in. She sat on the wooden platform that served as her bed with her arms and legs crossed. The guard placed the key back on the ring and turned to face her. She did not like the face she met.

"O-Officer Edelstein," she choked out.

"Is that not what they say in Hungary? I'll revert calling you to your number, if you prefer," he said.

"It is my name," she affirmed, returning to her stony façade. She lifted her chin up indignantly, refusing to look the man in the eye.

"I see you don't have my coat anymore. I heard a few rumors that you were wearing it. That you also took my gun and killed some good dogs with it, along with your accomplice."

"They took it back when they captured me," she replied brusquely.

"Yes, I did not want the coat back anyway. It was covered in dog blood. I've already got a new one."

"That wasn't dog's blood. It was _mine."_

"A bitch's blood is bitch's blood."

Elizabeta's eyes narrowed dangerously, registering the insult. "Why are you here, anyway? Do you not have anything better to do?" she hissed.

"I volunteered to be in charge of holding you two until your sentence can be carried out. I am under orders to be in here today, actually."

"I didn't think it would take so long, especially since you probably started preparing for an execution the moment the escape sirens went off. You Nazis must be pretty slow in the heads, huh?"

The Austrian chuckled and sat down on the cot next to her. It yielded under his weight, and Elizabeta felt suddenly uncomfortable at him being so close. "Alas you are correct about the preparations, my dear Elizabeta; there's already two gallows at the main Appellplatz. We finished building them yesterday. Do you know why you are in here?" he asked.

"Because me and Gilbert ran away, _dumbass."_

"Here. In the prison. Why your eyeballs are not being picked out by crows as you rot in the noose."

Elizabeta was quiet. She admitted to herself that she really didn't have a snippy answer to that one.

"Your case has brought about a few…. complications," the Austrian said, "It's not something that we deal with often. Granted, as you are merely a lowlife prisoner, you will be executed unconditionally."

"No trial?" Elizabeta joked.

This caused Roderich to smile smooth and toothlessly. "You're hardly worth the bread and clothes we give to keep you alive. But your lover, on the other hand…" the Austrian paused.

Elizabeta straightened nervously, inching away to the other side of the bed.

"We've got some red tape to cross when it comes to executing him. Nothing legal, as the punishment for such treason can be interpreted as high as death, but more other reasons. Like his astounding track record, and the even more impressive one of his brother- we don't need to inconvenience such a loyal soldier. This late in the war, we need all hands on deck to finish carrying out the Führer's final solution should the Russians close in, and cannot risk Ludwig. We're already contemplating a deathmarch back into the Rhineland."

"Why?"

"So we can finish killing you prisoners at some later date, if the trip there doesn't. I know in order to have fallen for Gilbert you must not be very bright, but try to keep up will you?"

"That's not what I meant. Why are you here. Telling me this," Elizabeta demanded.

"It seems you are a step ahead of me, my dear. I merely wished to ask you a question. Several actually, but I think I'll ask this one first."

"Spit it out Roderich."

"I suggested at the last conference that we can perhaps let him live out on the eastern front if he executes you personally. That way his loyalty would no longer be in question."

Elizabeta felt the blood run from her face. She rose gracefully from the bed, spinning on the balls of her bare feet to leap to the far side of the room to stare the man down. She noticed the revolting man unclip a clublike something from his belt. A police baton, by the looks of it.

"No need to overreact, dear. It was merely a question," but the grin that pulled around the edges of the Austrian's lips showed that he was very much enjoying the fear plastered on the face of the defiant girl who once, not so long ago, had tried to kill him.

"You bastard! If I'm going to die anyway, why not just ask him that question!"

"Because his answer would be biased. I won't tell anyone anything until you decide; he will believe he's being hanged along with you."

Elizabeta stared at the torturous man viciously from the other side of the cell. He had stood up now, perhaps feeling threatened. He brandished the club in his hand.

"You'll have a few days to think about it of course, while we sort some other things concerning you two out. Now, on to more pressing matters, shall we?" He took a step forward, shuffling a notepad and pen out from his pocket, and swinging the baton with his other hand.

xxxx

The Hungarian stopped the memory there, forcing away the frustration that once again threatened to spill over at the edges of her lashes. If she was going to die anyway, she would rather have at least Gilbert be able to survive, but then what? Get killed in the war a week later? Would he feel betrayed by her, if she made him do something so terrible? She wouldn't be able to die like that, in her final moments knowing the only person she loved hated her for making him do it. What if Roderich was lying and Gilbert was just going to get executed anyway?

It was not fair. She shouldn't have to decide the fate of anyone but herself. She allowed herself a single, heartbroken sob. How she loathed the sound, of sounding so weak. It was a disgrace to all she had fought for. But right now she didn't care, because she knew –deep down she knew- what her answer would have to be. And she hated the world for it.

"Lizzie."

Elizabeta looked up, drying her eyes on her shirt. She peered through the bars. Peridot eyes gleamed back at her.

"Feliks, how are you here?" she asked. "I thought you'd have been..."

Feliks leaned a mop carefully on the floor and squatted down on the floor to look the crying girl in her verdant eyes. "Its not, like… important. They put me to work in this prison. But you can't cry anymore, okay? You have to be strong. I'm here. Gilbert's here, I just talked to him yesterday. Ludwig is on your side too. Okay? No more crying."

Elizabeta swallowed a sniffle. "You don't understand. I-It's not…"

"What? Tell me what I don't understand?"

"Gilbert… he could live.. if only I can just tell Roderich…."

"They'll let Gil go? That's like, good! What did you figure out?" the Pole asked eagerly.

Elizabeta collapsed into heartbroken sobs again.

Feliks, carefree as he was, even then sensed something was terribly wrong with his new friend. He reached an arm through the bars, tentatively wiping a tear away from her florid cheek. Elizabeta looked up to meet his emerald eyes, which sparkled with sincerity.

"Hey now, it's all going to be like, okay. Okay? If anyone can get the pair of you out of this mess, it will be the four of us. No more crying, you're too strong for that. Everything will turn out okay." He smiled earnestly.

Elizabeta stifled her tears, but wasn't sure if the Pole himself believed his bold words.


	20. Chapter 20

**-Roderich Edelstein-**

Roderich waited coolly in the small office that had been assigned to him since he took on this Block 11 case, a pile of forms on the dark earthy wood of the desk. It was a rather diminutive room, cement with yellowish paint, a framed picture of Hitler on the wall, with file cabinets and wooden paneling occupying the wall behind his desk, but he was satisfied with it. It was warm and quiet. A soft rapping on the door broke his attention away from the document he was about to sign. The knob turned and the door swung open. An azure-eyed silhouette stood in the doorway.

"Ludwig. A pleasure. Do come in, I've been meaning to talk to you." The Austrian said politely, looking up.

The tall blond obliged. "Heil Hitler," the North German said in greeting, raising his right arm at the elbow in the abbreviated salute of which military personnel greeted each other while on duty. Roderich returned the gesture.

"Heil Hitler. Did you need something?"

"Yes, a question actually. I was looking for Gilbert's belongings that were confiscated upon his return to camp. I would like to have them if I could. You wouldn't happen to know where those were?"

Roderich nodded, standing up from his leather chair. It made sense that the German would want his brother's belongings back, even if just as a keepsake. The two weren't quite friends, but Ludwig was far more educated than the average low classed SS, and Roderich respected him for that. He found Ludwig to be calm, but uncultured. The Austrian often thought that unless drunk, which he too often was, Ludwig was overly martial and preferred the carnage of war over the virtues of the coming age. Roderich also assumed that Ludwig succumbed to brand him with the typical former Austrian stereotype; that in his antebellum life he was wealthy, lazy, and pampered. But they undeniably held a respect for each other.

"Yes, they're right in this cabinet here," Roderich answered, "His old rifle and bayonet are in the armory of course, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that. He didn't have anything much if I recall, just a couple of metal things. A ceremonial dagger, a lighter, and his cap; which fell off during the fight," he said, stepping his way to a spot on the wall.

"Sounds about right, for him," Ludwig alleged, somewhat soberly, following the brunette to the wall as Roderich opened the drawer. As Roderich bent down to take out the items he thought he felt a peculiar stirring on his belt, along with a metallic chime so brief his brain hardly recognized it. But when the Austrian looked up, he only noticed Ludwig standing behind him, leaning slightly over his shoulder as he peered into the cabinet. Roderich's hands closed around the objects and held them into the light to see.

"Remarkable craftsmanship," Roderich praised, examining the silver lighter in his hands before handing it to the German, along with the sheathed dagger and the SS cap. "I never would have thought Gilbert would have an eye for such a thing."

"I'm afraid he can't take credit, it's an antique from our father. I was a bit bothered that Gilbert got it at first, but I guess I haven't got much use for it anyway." His sentence cut off quickly, as in a few days this would not be a concern anymore. Roderich sensed his acquaintance's uneasiness.

"Ah yes, smoking is quite barbaric, isn't it?" the Austrian said, hoping to break the tension. His efforts were greeted with a stony silence by the blond. Roderich could not ignore the elephant in the room any longer. With a sigh, he met Ludwig in his pale blue eyes.

"Listen… I was meaning to ask you about all of this. Him being your older brother and all. You're not conflicted are you?"

The German was quiet, his lips pressed into a grim line. Roderich noticed that his square fists were clenched on the desk, as if speaking was a great effort.

"Gilbert made a mistake: I cannot hate him for his stupidity. He deserves punishment for abandoning the Third Reich, and I will miss him greatly. But my chief grievance is of the siren, who sang her song until she crashed him against the rocks of her imprudent ambitions for escape."

Roderich was quiet; he almost wanted to tell Ludwig of what went on in the conference. That there was a chance Gilbert could live, but he willed his lips closed. Chances were that Elizabeta would be predictably and foolishly magnanimous and agree to his proposition anyway, but Roderich was not a man to take unnecessary chances. He would not jeopardize his position: he would ask her for her final answer this afternoon.

"I'm sorry Ludwig, it's a waste of good blood. I'll tell the guards to let you in if they see you, so you can visit him one of these days. Is that all you need?"

"Thank you, Roderich. That means a lot. I have one more question, actually."

"Yes?"

"Even just an estimate. Of how long he has, I would really appreciate it."

Roderich hesitated. It all depended on Elizabeta's answer to his question. "I don't know. We're sorting out a final complication today. A couple more days, perhaps. We will have a precise date for you tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"Right, thanks anyway. Bye, Roderich." With military precision, the German whirled on his heels and marched out of the door. Roderich thought –if only for a moment- that he noticed an audible clinking of metal as he turned.

* * *

_Click. Click. Click._

The steps of Roderich's boots echoed around the silent corridors. He approached his destination and peered into the only occupied cell of this floor. He unhooked the police baton from his belt and swung it fiercely against the metal bars of the prison. "Elizabeta Héderváry! Wake up!"

The girl leaped out of her cot, landing fleetly on two spread feet. Her right arm was poised in the air, as if she was about to strike the stagnant sterile prison atmosphere with her bony fist. Her green eyes flashed and she looked at him, grinning, upon noticing his presence. "Oh. Just _you_. I thought it was something important." The third word rolled off her tongue slowly, as if it were a curse.

"It _is_ important. You know precisely why I am here today; try to hide it as you might. You have had ample time to consider my proposition. Have you an answer?"

The girls' eyes narrowed angrily. Her bronze curls were still tangled fiercely about her face. She looked to the cement, refusing to meet his violet gaze. "You know my answer."

"On the contrary."

She mumbled something incoherent into her breast.

"Speak, dear."

_"Yes._ I said yes, dammit! I accept your proposition. Gilbert shall receive and obey the orders to execute me, so long as you promise he in turn will be given the chance to go east."

Before he noticed it, the girl was in front of him, her face inches from his. Her eyes burned with green fire. "But deny him this, after my sacrifice, and I'll come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life."

"A man of my word I am, Elizabeta. I'll let him know immediately."

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well. Get out of here."

And the Austrian disappeared around the corner.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert Beilschmidt was busying himself doing push-ups on the floor of his cell. He often wondered if it was worth the calories, but decided that the physical activity kept him sane.

_Achtundneunzig…_

He had heard stories about captured German soldiers who did the same thing in the Russian POW camps back in the Great War. Once they stopped getting exercise they got depressed or sick and died.

_Neunundneunzig…._

The ones who worked lasted longer than the ones who didn't, even though it was a greater strain on the body. He wasn't sure why, probably some stupid human-nature psychobabble, but he felt he should do it. And so he did.

_Einhundert!_

The Prussian smoothly pushed himself of the dusty cement with his palms, rolling up onto two feet without bending his legs. Despite the cold dry air of the prison, Gilbert found himself sweating. He felt filthy –but in a tolerable way- a hardy type of filthiness he could deal with. It was a sweaty dirty filth, not of lice and excrement like the prisoners. He took a deep breath and raised his sleeve to his brow to wipe away the sweat. The brilliant red and white of his armband caught in the corner of his eye. He almost forgot he was wearing it.

_This again?_

_I really should just take it off._

His right arm obeyed his subconscious immediately, reaching for the tattered swastika that adorned his left bicep. He started pulling it down his arm, and stopped.

_I'm sure as hell not a Nazi anymore...but I can't say I regret it. It taught me hierarchy and how to be strong. Like it or not, the Nazi party made me who I am._

The Prussian closed his eyes in deep thought.

xxxx

"Vati! Vati! Can you see him?"

"Look, look Gil! He's over there, to the right!"

_Which way is right?_

"I can't see him!"

Strong arms wrapped around Gilbert's ribcage, plucking him away from the massive claustrophobia of the crowd to lift him atop the man's broad shoulders. A calloused tan hand reached up to tossel his firstborn's soft, towhead hair. "Better, son?"

"It's so tall up here! How can you feel like this every day?"

The head between his chubby legs turned partially, smiling. His father's eyes were wizened and blue like those of his baby brother, and he had uncharacteristically long, straw colored hair. "Just eat your vegetables and your wurst, and you'll be as tall as me in no time at all."

"But vegetables are-!"

"Look. Over there, standing in the Mercedes! That's him."

"That's Hitler?"

"Yes, that's him."

The child blinked owlishly, cocking his head to the side. Was this the man his father spoke so disdainfully about? He looked at the brown-suited politician, who was hailed under a storm of the crowd's spirited chants of 'heil.' The boy saw him standing like a statue in the passenger seat of the Mercedes, his arm out in front of him as if he himself parted the columns of Germans saluting on either side of the street, without even acknowledging them. He stared forward intensely with those fierce navy eyes, at a fixation on the horizon Gilbert could not see. It was godlike. Scores of little red swastika flags fluttered from the hands of the mass. Hundreds of women threw flowers from the windows of buildings and where they stood on the boulevard. Thousands of hands shot up in the air in salute as the Mercedes passed. A petal landed on his nose. Gilbert sneezed. "He's kinda short, Hitler, you know?"

His father chuckled. "Yes, maybe he didn't eat his vegetables?"

More memories came flooding back to the Prussian.

_What a fool I am…._

"Heil, my youth, Heil," the Führer had said. Hitler called them his youth. His Youth! How It had filled Gilbert with elation all those years ago.

He remembered being at the youth rally in Nuremburg. The Hitler Youth was an organization designed by the Nazi party to indoctrinate young German boys into its policies and the army. Looking back now, Gilbert couldn't help but laugh. Even in the infancy of the Nazi party, the Führer had set about sealing himself the loyalty of the future. Brainwashing an entire generation. And Gilbert was guilty of buying in to it. He leaned down on his cot, laughing, a reminiscent smile on his lips, covering his face with his hands.

"One day," Hitler had said, "you will be Germany's future. Because one day, you will be Germany. You will be our nation. Rather than be our hope, you must be the fulfillment of all that we hope for."

It really was inspiring to him to hear the Führer speak. It was to millions of children like Gilbert and Ludwig. They were _his_ iron youth, what did the other adults know? Hitler understood the strength and intelligence of his young people, he didn't just underestimate them constantly like the older members of society. The old people were born into some old, dead age. They weren't important anymore. The youth were part of a great, new era, that would pioneer the world into greatness. The Aryans were the best of the races. Aryan merely meant that someone was white and not a Jew. One was a higher level of Aryan if he had blond hair and blue eyes and his skull was shaped a certain way. If the Aryans were the best of the races, and if the Germans were the best of all the Aryans, and if the HJ was making him the best of all the Germans; were these kids not the best in the world? Yes, they were!

_What nonsense all of this race stuff is…_

_"And not one of us is a coward, who loses heart or gets tired. Or who doubts the way lead by the beating drum~"_

The words of the song had belted off of his adolescent tongue as if they were the code for living. He had marched in step to the words, in a column of thousands of other goosetepping, uniformed children. The music of the Hitler Jugend was beautiful, inspiring- it made him feel like he could do anything. He wasn't sure if maybe just the German people were easily influenced by music, but the beautiful melody filled him with a pride little else could. He saw Ludwig in the lead of the platoon behind him, as he was younger. A grin was plastered across his brother's face as he held up the banner. It was a simple banner, not unlike the standard Nazi flag. It was red with a tilted black swastika in the middle, but instead of being inscribed in the standard white circle, it fell inside a diamond and a white stripe that separated the red into two separate bands along the side. Ludwig had clutched the long flag as if it were sacred.

_"Our flag leads us on, into the future side by side we march. Yes, the flag is greater than death."_

_Is it?_

The words of the program's anthem flitted to his memory and he couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the current situation.

Part of the allure of it was that everyone had a purpose. Granted, towards the war years, children were conducted forcibly into it and all other youth-groups were banned. Anyone who wasn't already in it was an outcast by their friends and teachers. Ludwig had gone quickly, and eventually, Gilbert too found himself enthusiastically caught up in it. Older groups of HJ members would be sent to the houses of families of his neighbors, to beat and bully the children into columns to march back to the campus in the street. And with them in the lead –whether he wanted to or not- a person would find himself following.

Even the girls were allowed in. There was a separate wing of the HJ for females, the Bund deutscher Mädel, the BDM. The league of German girls. Gilbert always thought they were really pretty, in their ladylike but trim white blouses and short blue skirts. Not half as pretty as Elizabeta, of course, but not bad. The girls were rather bland though. They didn't have the fiery defiance of Elizabeta they were meek and docile to men like sheep. Except when it came to teasing people not in the group. He had seen schoolgirls forbidden from joining reduced to tears by their vicious taunts. The program was aimed to build them into the Nazi version of the perfect woman: the mother. They needed plenty of blond haired-blue eyed children to fill the lands that they conquered under Lebensraum, and who else to do it but the women? Having lots of children was encouraged, mothers of four or more were given the Mother's Cross medal as an award. He remembered noticing that the Bund deutscher Mädels were romantically obsessed with Hitler, the lot of them, the fact that he was single adding to the Fürher's appeal. He'd see the girls throw flowers or even faint if Hitler touched them. He had a neighbor growing up, she had written Hitler a letter. The fact that an amazing man such as the Führer had no child to carry on his bloodline had bothered her. So she had written an offer to him, to bear a child of the Führer. She was one of hundreds, and none of the requests were taken up. Above all, the BDM preached virginity until marriage. 'Keep your blood pure, it's not just yours!' It was the future of the Aryan race, and it would not be diluted with unholiness.

In the schools, the whole curriculum was written in the Nazi context. In history, the main topic was the Treaty of Versailles. Bits of history would be rewritten in the textbooks. For certainly, Attila the Hun was an Aryan, because only an Aryan could conquer so much land. Mathematics had been taught in context of war. _"An airplane is flying over Warsaw point A at 280km/h at 4000m drops a bomb…."_ But the most interesting part –also what Gilbert feared the most- was science class. Everything had been rewritten into Darwinism and Eugenics. One day, SS men had come into the classroom and started classifying the children by race and measuring the shapes of their skulls. One kid had a very round face, he was kicked out of school. ' _Your skull is very round. We are sorry, but you are purely eastern.'_ The classifiers had charts to measure eye color and nose shape. One SS looked at Gilbert and laughed. _'Red eyes? What the hell is that? I guess we'll just call it brown 4b, from far away.'_

_How backwards this all is._

The thing that was really was the highlight of Gilbert's year was the HJ Summer Camp. It gave one a feeling of independence, to be away from your parents for so long as a teenager. The bond between him and his parents were replaced by a bond between him and the Third Reich; his father was gone by then and he never cared much for his mother, so looking back now, he thought it inevitable. He had realized then that the sole purpose of the camp was to train him to be a soldier. Propaganda was shoved down his throat, but Gilbert didn't mind. They'd hunt and hike and box and play war games every day. There was this one exercise where he had to jump twenty meters off the top of a building onto a parachute held by his platoonmates. First you had to find the courage within yourself to jump. Then you had to trust that the person giving you the order to jump wouldn't let you die. And finally, you had to trust the same thing of your comrades holding the net. He jumped, and was met with cheers from his friends. The war games were the most fun though, everyone got very serious about them. He remembered how once Ludwig had gotten scolded by a nurse at eleven years old for giving a fourteen year old a concussion during one of them. To which his younger brother merely replied "Well, if he's older and stronger than me, he shouldn't have let me beat him up!" It was an answer Gilbert had approved of.

The brothers were sad to go back to their little village, though. After the summer ended, he found life back in town to be boring. Until _one_ night, in November 1938…. It signified the end of German innocence. From that first night on, no German could claim they didn't know what was in store for the Jews. The Night of Broken Glass. Kristallnacht.

_Stop it. I don't want to think about it anymore…_

1939, he joined the war effort as an S.S., Hitler's most elite f-

_No, no more. That's enough._

In 1940, the Jews in his village, many of which he had known as a child, were depo-

_Stop!_ _Please!_

But his conscience fought on. Another memory surfaced, this one forcing itself onto the canvas of his mind's eye before he could beat it back.

xxxx

A short, blond child opened the door to a small house in the countryside, setting several textbooks on a dark wooden dinner table. A silver haired teen sat at the table, balancing a rickety looking chair back on two legs.

"Lud, do you know where Father is? Mother and I haven't seen him in a few days… I'm starting to worry. It isn't like him to leave town without telling us," the platnum haired male asked worriedly.

"I haven't seen Vati since Wednesday!" the little blond boy cried, lacing his chubby fingers around Gilbert's stronger, adolescent working hands, "I miss him, Gil."

Gilbert held a questioning finger to his chin, looking to his younger brother. "Did we do anything different on Wednesday? Something that might have made him angry?" he asked, to himself as the child.

"No… unless Mother did something, but they always get along. We just went to school like any normal day, right? It's a bit funny though, Gilly, that same day I even told my teacher about him."

Gilbert turned on his brother swiftly, a feeling of dread sinking into his heart, "What did you tell her?"

Little Ludwig met his brother's concerned stare with those big blue, innocent eyes. "N-nothing I-I think….. she was just asking us Hitler Youth kids about our families. She went around the class and asked if we knew anyone who didn't like the Führer so much. So I told her that Vati used to complain sometimes about his ranting when she got to me. About how that one time he helped our neighbors –what were their names, the Goldsteins?– go on vacation. She wasn't at all upset with me though, in fact she gave me a gold star! In front of the whole class! She said she'd let my Jungvolk commander know and he would give me a huge promotion. I can't imagine why though… I only answered a question she asked me…."

XXXXXXXXX

Gilbert shuddered at the remembrance, shaking his head violently to clear it. He couldn't blame Ludwig for what he had done when he was too young to understand. But no, no more memories for today.

_Click. Click. Click._

He would have to remove it. The armband. He could not live with a foot in each world any longer. He would know where he belonged in this world and be proud of it. He was a German –a Prussian- who loved his country and his people. Not the Nazis. With his right hand, Gilbert grabbed the torn and bloodied fabric. His hesitant grip became firm with conviction, his expression fiercening as well. He slid a thumb under the armband, and with a thrust of his arm ripped it from his left bicep. The seams of the ragged crimson fabric tore and split along the slash that had been burned into it by the electric wire with a satisfying hum. It fell softly, almost serenely to the ground in two red ribbons. The swastika was centered in half on each one. He raised a black boot to smother it.

_Click._

"Gilbert Beilschmidt…"

He turned to face the noise squarely. Roderich Edelstein was staring nervously at him from the other side of the bars, his brows raised in genuine concern. The Austrian's chest deflated and his arms fell slowly to his sides. His purplish gaze flitted to the ground. "I hadn't known."

Gilbert looked at him curiously, slowly retracting his boot from the shredded article of clothing after he had ground it sufficiently into the cement. Roderich hadn't acted this way to him in years. "Is something -especially- wrong?"

"No, Gilbert… I just assumed that you were still loyal, that it was the girl, that if you had the opportunity you'd…. –just, never mind."

"What?" The Prussian faced his captor with his head cocked, like a scolded child who was not aware of what he had done wrong. Certainly Roderich was not surprised by him crushing the armband. He was about to be executed by them.

"Just… Nevermind. This whole thing has been a waste. I came to tell you your sentence by hanging with Elizabeta is in two days from now. That's December the twenty-second, 1944. At the dawn Appell. That's all."

Gilbert blinked. Wasn't it his plan for him to be executed from the start? What was the Austrian so upset about? Was there something he didn't know? The Prussian kind of looked forward to the lynching, actually. There wasn't anything to do in the prison but mope. At least there he'd see Elizabeta again, and probably cause some real funny trouble with her before the Nazis could try and make martyrs out of them. He'd be sure to pants Roderich again in front of her and the audience, if the opportunity arose.

"Yeah okay whatever. Thanks for the date, Roderich." he said, discounting the Austrian's concern with his nonchalantedness.

* * *

**A/N**

The purpose of this chapter was to add depth to the characters, add a bit more of an informative factor (since I've been lacking severely in it these last few chapters, of which I am ashamed) and explain a bit about how Gilbert wound up in his current setting. Also of course, to sow the seeds for a few future events in the plot. I would have done all of the memories from Gilbert's present point of view rather than looking back at some of the events, but I was afraid I didn't know enough details about them and there was far too much to cover so thoroughly (this is by far the longest chapter so far). I'll be happy to answer any questions, though. Maybe the education bored you, but I'm thinking most of it you may not have known, and it had a bit of an interesting shock-factor, how someone could brainwash children like that. Hopefully reading it wasn't too boring.

I appreciate all input, even ones for past chapters.

Celticfeather


	21. Chapter 21

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

Ludwig slid a small black-and-white photograph out of his breast-pocket, studying it closely. It wasn't his picture of the Führer that he and many soldiers carried, no this was a different photograph. One that he had acquired only recently, and for less-noble purposes than just being able to look at his Fuhrer. Major Richard Baer was the subject off this photograph, the current Commandant of Auschwitz.

Conducting a successful escape was like the rise of Hitler to power. If one didn't succeed the first time with zeal, he would prevail the second time using tactic. Adolf Hitler had failed back in the twenties, when he tried to take over the government through violence with the Beer Hall Putsch. What were Elizabeta and Gilbert thinking, that they could succeed in their plans only with brute force of survival and sheer dumb luck out in the woodland? No, they would need a plan and things would be done diplomatically. No violence was needed. Only cutthroat deception. Hitler had originally succeeded in taking over several government buildings and bullied some captured governors at gunpoint into supporting him during his little rebellion, but in the end he failed. He was tried and thrown in prison, and there he wrote _Mein Kampf._ When had Hitler actually succeeded, it was when he realized he had to do it all legally. Shadily, but legally. He would legally enter parliament with the goal of destroying it. Hitler had broken no laws in his path to success, and neither would Elizabeta and Gilbert in their attempt at escape. Well, they would be breaking plenty of laws, but nothing that would be recognized as broken until it was too late. Not that the two lovers had anything planned yet. This was where Ludwig would come in. He had always been a superior tactician to Gilbert anyway.

He held the photograph up to the crowd of working male Polish prisoners of which today he was to watch over. These ones were skilled workers, and were allowed to retain their normal clothes and even keep their hair. They also got slightly better food. If he didn't look at them too close he might almost mistake them for being human. But upon closer inspection, they were still unnaturally thin and pale and stank worse than roadkill rotting out in the sun.

He held the photograph of the commandant for the final time to the crowd. Alas, he had found a possible match.

Ludwig approached a prisoner who was sitting at a long desk in front of several papers written in various languages. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder, startling the prisoner out of his seat. The Jew gapped at the guard like a fish, as if the grim-reaper himself had approached him.

"Do you understand me? You speak German?" Ludwig inquired of the man, his voice darkly monotone.

The prisoner turned to face him. "Yessir, I-I speak German. I wasn't doing anything wrong, I wa-"

He looked a decade older than Ludwig, perhaps in his early thirties. He had a strong, straight nose and short dark-blonde hair, just like the man in his photograph. But despite his age, the prisoner was offered no respect from the younger guard.

"Shut up and come with me." Without waiting for a response, Ludwig pulled the man outside of the warehouse, attracting the fearful stares of numerous Kapos and other prisoners.

"I didn't do anything incorrect, check sir, I swear it!" the older Jew spluttered as Ludwig brought him outside, his voice bleached by the winter wind. "I'm inno-"

Ludwig glanced quickly around. Due to the cold, the Appellplatz was virtually deserted. Only a few guards patrolled at their necessary positions, each well out of earshot. "Shut up," Ludwig barked, disgusted by the wretch's prideless pleading. "I know you've done nothing wrong. I came to ask you something."

"What?"

"I'll have your help. Should you accept, you will be allowed to live. And I mean _really_ live. Outside of Auschwitz. Free."

The terrified Jew appeared confused and silent for a moment. The silence stretched on as he searched Ludwig's staid facial expression for any clues. But eventually, he broke out into guffaws of laughter. "I know what this is! You're gonna see if I accept, and if I do, kill me for conspiring against the Nazis! Then you'll get your three days leave for stopping an escape!" he exclaimed. "Well sir, this was a very amusing game, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me back inside so I can work."

"Do you know who I am?" Ludwig ground out, his voice not raising in pitch at the end, as if it were an order instead of a question. He locked his icy sapphire gaze with that of the prisoner, a hand grabbing onto the older man's arm.

"No." the elder blond whispered, cowed.

"I am the brother of the guard who tried to leave with the Hungarian prisoner, I assume you've heard the rumors. He is to be lynched a few days from now. I do not want that to happen, as I am going to help him and his friend escape. But I need your help."

The Jew took a step back, still overwhelmed with information. "There's always a catch to these things, sir. I don't want to end up as your cannon fodder. What if I should refuse?"

A cruel smile cracked across Ludwig's thin lips. "Should you refuse?" he purred, "Then I guess I'll just have myself a little fun and kill you right now." He looped the Sturmgewehr assault rifle from his back, forgoing the little Astra pistol on his belt. His tongue swiped hungrily over his lips.

"Please don't! I have a daughter here in the camp!" the prisoner pleaded.

"That's nice."

The blond leveled his firearm, still smiling, "It's been a few days since I've killed a Jew. Too long, it really is quite entertaining."

"WAIT!"

_"Goodbye."_

The prisoner moved himself out of the path of the pointed gun by diving to the ground at the SS's boots. "I'll do what you need! Anything at all!"

Ludwig grinned and looped the weapon back over his shoulder. "Come to our senses. Amazing how the threat of immediate death puts things into perspective."

"Yes. I'll do what you want," the prisoner whispered, looking down at his shoes.

"Good. What's your name?"

"Borys Raczynski."

"Alright, Borys," Ludwig said, extending a black gloved hand. "You may address me as Scharführer Beilschmidt. Worry not, what I have in store for you isn't too bad."

The prisoner gulped. For some reason, he felt like he was signing a pact with the devil.

* * *

That was one facet of Ludwig's plan covered. He had filled Borys in briefly, only what he needed to know for now. He could not trust prisoners, as soon as someone offered them a better deal they'd sell him out for a roll of bread, so he was careful in what he could reveal. He couldn't just kill this one off; not yet, at least. But there was a second faction of his plan that would require the help of another prisoner. After his shift he found himself walking into a workhouse of Hungarian women. They worked dutifully, building munitions, it seemed. The prisoners eyed the SS warily, but were too afraid to stare in case it attracted attention. He approached a slightly balding woman with soft, tawny eyes.

"Hey you, speak any German?"

The woman shook her head and smiled in nervous apology. "Nincs, bocsánat." And returned to work.

He approached several more, none answering his question with a 'Ja'. Finally, he came to an old woman. Old by camp standards, where a thirty year old looked fifty, and a forty year old looked eighty. He prodded her somewhat gently on the shoulder. "Do you understand what I am saying? Do you speak German and Hungarian?" he asked.

The woman turned around from her work. "Yes sir. I spent a few years in Bavaria as a girl. I am a bit rusty, though."

"That's alright. I just need your help with something for a moment. Care to come outside for a minute, miss?" He was strangely, genuinely polite.

Despite the young Teuton's courtesy, the old woman knew there was no a choice in the matter. She stood up bravely and followed Ludwig outside of the room into the night. He waited against the wall of the wood-paneled warehouse, underneath a light. The rest of the camp was veiled in the 3pm darkness of a Polish twilight. The dull thuds and whistles of shellfire reverberated into the air from the ever-nearing eastern front. He pulled out a small sheet of paper and a pencil.

"What can I help you with, sir?" the elderly Hungarian asked, carefully hiding the fear in her voice. Ludwig could respect her for that at least.

"I just need you to translate a few German sentences into Hungarian onto a paper for me. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I should be able to. It is easier to write it than to speak it."

He handed her the pencil and paper. She pressed it against the ridged wooden panels of the warehouse. "I'm ready."

"Write it small, but very clear."

"Yes sir. What do you want me to write?"

"This: _'Use December 21st. Hide object under mattress. Meet outside prison doors five minutes after guard change. Remain unseen at all costs. L and G will be in auto with other. Contact F if problem arises. G receiving same instructions. Eat well first."_

The wrinkled woman scrawled swiftly onto the paper. She handed it to him with a shaking hand, avoiding his gaze. Ludwig read the writing over. Most of the Hungarian language was unfamiliar other than the characters themselves, but he recognized the initials and the numbers. It seemed the woman had done exactly as she was told. "Thank you kindly madam. I very much appreciate it. Now, you wouldn't be fluent in English too, are you?"

"Nay. Afraid not."

"That's alright. I'll manage." Ludwig said, folding the piece of paper neatly before stowing it in his pocket.

"Anytime sir. May you permit me to ask what all this is for?"

"Sure. I don't see a harm in telling you now. But first, you don't know anyone by the name of Elizabeta Héderváry, do you?" Ludwig asked.

"No sir. Never in my life." the woman returned.

The soldier breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I'm helping her escape, to answer your question. It would be a shame if I had to kill someone who she knew."

"Wh-?"

In a heartbeat, Ludwig pulled out his Astra. With firm swiftness he took careful aim between the eyes of the old woman. "Thanks for your help."

And pulled the trigger.

* * *

**-Feliks Łukasiewicz-**

The bicep-with-legs was back again. He was really serious and boring, but he had a funny angry face. Feliks would try and imitate it whenever he passed a puddle. Sure, he guessed the two men were working together now, but he was still _totally_ scary. Ludwig handed Feliks four small, heavy items, each meticulously wrapped in several layers of paper. Paper, what a rare thing to find here, he could sell it for a lot. And some sort of SS cap. Each of the quartet of items had a number written in blue ink on their papery wrappings. Oh wait, was he saying something now? Oops.

"Er, Luddy, care to remind me what these things are, again? I don't think you ever like, explained it."

Exasperated, the tall German placed a hand to his brow. He sighed vociferously. "Just deliver the cap and objects two, three, and four to Gilbert's cell. Don't talk to him, just slide them under the bars. Deliver the first one to Elizabeta. Make sure they are both awake to receive it. Don't say anything to her either. Unless you wish to say a goodbye. But keep it quiet. Don't arouse any suspicion."

"A goodbye? So this is like… the end, huh…." Feliks felt sad for a moment. It was an unfamiliar emotion, he didn't like it.

Ludwig placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You are sure you do not want to come with us? You'd have pulled your weight."

Feliks did not know if the offer was out of a small thankfulness, or a desire to leave no witnesses behind in the camp. "No, it's too risky for me. All factors considered."

"I understand, Feliks. Good luck here."

The Pole nodded sadly. Feliks hadn't known Lizzie, Gil, and Luddy for that long, but a person like him didn't make too many friends. He was afraid he was about to lose some of the only ones he had. His usually facetious emerald eyes dulled with bittersweet solemnity. He looked down, so his fierce German friend wouldn't see the sadness plastered over his young features. He knew Ludwig wouldn't approve of anyone looking that way. "Yeah. You too, Ludwig. Goodbye."


	22. Chapter 22

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Cheery whistling echoed around the prison's stony corridors. Elizabeta recognized the voice. She heard the maker of the noise pushing something on squeaky wheels, dancing slightly with a mop as he pushed it along the ground. The footsteps stopped outside of her cell. She heard a rapping on the bars.

"Ho ho ho, is it like, Christmas early? Cuz I've got Miss Lizzabeta a present!" Feliks whispered excitedly, peering jovially into her cell. The Hungarian stood up and stepped over to her friend.

"Hi Feel!" she chirped as loudly as she dared, "How are you? What's this talk of St. Nick visiting death row, huh?"

"Hey Liz!" Feliks returned. "Guess what? Well, never mind. Ludwig said I couldn't talk a whole lot. But he wanted me to give you this."

The young Pole bent down, messing around in the gray bristles of the mop's head on the tiles. She realized then that it wasn't actually wetted; he just pushed it along the ground dry. Hidden underneath the bristles and pressed upon the floor were several small parcels wrapped in white paper towels. It was an ingenious way for him to sneak things in without looking suspicious; she secretly doubted that Feliks had come up with the idea by himself. He pulled out one of the smallest packages, which was about the size of two fingers pressed together and slid it through the bars to her. It was labeled with a '1' in blue ink. She held it gingerly, wondering what of such use could be so small. She looked up at Feliks questioningly.

The blond grinned widely. "Ludwig's bustin you two outta here!"

Out? For real this time?

Elizabeta exhaled, ecstatic. "Ludwig sure did cut it close! Another day and we'd be goners. How are we doing it?"

"Can't say. It's in the package." Feliks answered. He seemed oddly quiet. Elizabeta sensed something was amiss.

"Feliks…. You may come with us, right?"

More silence. She felt a feeling of dread seep into her heart.

"I-I can't. It's not the right plan for me," Feliks answered. Elizabeta gasped.

"Why? Can the plan not get you out as easily as me and Gilbert?"

"It can, I guess, but…."

"Why?"

Feliks swallowed. "It's just too risky. If I can hang on for another four weeks Ludwig says the Russians will be here and liberate us. When Poland was annexed I was happy to be in the part that the Nazis took over –because unlike what I heard about the Soviets, the Germans at least bothered to, like, feed us. Even some of the Jews thought so, but that was before the krauts ran into their little storage problem- but now that I'm in a concentration camp just for being from, like, Eastern Europe, I think it's safer to wait for them. The escape plan is your best bet, but still very dangerous. And unlike you and Gil I still have more than a few hours of life to lose. Like, forty years of life to lose. The chances of me being killed in the escape plan and in occupied Poland is a lot higher than the chances of me dying in camp for the next few weeks."

Elizabeta nodded solemnly. "I understand… I guess. It would have been nice to have you come with us."

Feliks grinned. "I'm glad you think that, Lizzie. But I'm not really a fighter like the rest of you."

"What are you talking about? I'm not a fighter; Gilbert and Ludwig are the real soldiers between us four."

"Yeah, but you'd like, _kill someone_ , if you had to… right?"

"Yes" Elizabeta had considered murder without questioning it that first time Roderich held her at gunpoint. She had planned to even though she knew she would be killed anyway if she succeeded in cracking his skull with the broken piece of concrete, and she knew later she'd be killed through a way much more torturous than a mere bullet to the head. She wasn't sure she could picture Feliks doing the same.

He smiled. "I guess that settles it then, huh. "

"So this is goodbye?"

He pulled her left arm through the bars and went down onto one knee. He kissed the back of her hand lightly, green eyes flickering up to hers. "Bye Lizzie. Good luck with everything. Woulda helped to have someone who speaks Polish, but you'll be in safe hands with Gilbert and Ludwig," he said, his tone more earnest that she ever would have imagined coming from the goofy teen. She smiled back.

"Good luck too, Feel. If you get killed before the war is over I swear I'll never forgive you."

Feliks giggled. "Glad to know your emotional happiness is your first concern when it comes to me." Then, on a more serious note, "Yeah, like, you too."

"Goodbye."

"Remember the package. Bye Liz, I'm off to deliver some stuff to Gilly now. Stay safe."

* * *

She really hoped everything would be alright for Feliks. She recalled his last command. The package. She stood up and brought it to her cot and sat down. She carefully unwrapped the white paper around it, crouched over it on her cot like a vulture, in case a guard came around. A silvery key flashed as she peeled the white sheets away. A key! To this very prison cell, no doubt. How had Ludwig and Feliks gotten a hold of it? Oh well, she'd find out later if it was important, what mattered now was that she had it. A lined piece of paper was coiled around the shaft of the key, too. She carefully unraveled it.

_'Use December 21. Hide object under mattress. Meet outside prison doors after guard change. Remain unseen at all costs. L and G will be in car with other. Contact F if problem arises. G receiving same instructions. Eat well first."_

Obviously, L G and F must have meant Ludwig, Gilbert, and Feliks. The note was written in flawless Hungarian; in curving, old-fashioned feminine script. The German language was rough and throaty, it was a welcome relief for her mind to hear something played back in her native tongue. But why was it in Hungarian? Certainly Ludwig didn't know such a difficult language. She wondered briefly how he had managed to translate it, before dismissing it as unimportant. She realized that the translation must have been an effort to disguise any of the guards from reading it, just in case something went wrong. She would have to give Ludwig more credit for his foresight.

She dropped the key's wrappings and the note in the toilet, after memorizing it and tearing it into little pieces. She paced towards the bars of the cell, hiding the key in her sleeve. Elizabeta's umber hair flared out in a plume left and right as she swung her head to check the hallway for anyone who could see her. The corridor was bare, except for Roderich's little warden office, whose oaken door was closed and appeared unoccupied. She approached the lockbox and slid her thin arm through the bars, probing for the hole with the key. She felt it sink into a hole. She pushed it in further and turned it.

_Click._

She pushed on the door tentatively, which swung open a few centimeters at her touch. Yes, the gate was unlocked. She grinned and pulled the heavy barred door closed, and with a flick of her wrist relocked it. She hid the key under her cot's mattress.

All she had to do now was wait.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Feliks Łukasiewicz had bestowed Gilbert with his oh-so-mighty presence, giving him four items in total. Three were small and heavy and wrapped in white paper, the other was just his SS cap, which wasn't worth disguising since it was large and easier to explain because there were hundreds of other SS in the camp. They had said goodbye and wished luck to each other, and Feliks told him of plans for escape orchestrated by his brother. The Pole had left as quickly as he had come, fearing to make too much noise and alert Roderich or a lower guard. He had left Gilbert the objects to discover for himself.

The Prussian set his SS cap on the bed. He guessed he should open up the other three in order.

Feliks had said that object one was with Elizabeta. He plucked the object labeled 2, also the smallest and lightest. With a featherlight touch he peeled the paper back, as if disengaging a bomb. The forked head of a steel key flashed in the light. Coiled around its shaft was a note of some sort. He carefully picked it off and studied it.

Instructions…. But written in English? Or was it Dutch? No, there words were ordered funny. Not Dutch. But written in Ludwig's own hand? What was this about?

The pair had briefly studied English in gymnasium as kids, along with a few years of other nearer-by European languages. But it was a gamble to assume that Gilbert himself would even read it right. _Less of a gamble if it were written in German,_ he noted any guards found if it then, the whole plan would be ruined immediately. Finding an English translator would buy them a few minutes at least.

Gilbert frowned in study. The words he could make out from the script seemed to tell him about a key, to meet outside at 21:00 when the guards changed, where Ludwig would be waiting in a car. That Elizabeta was doing likewise. He should eat well first… what did that mean? Would they be gone for a long time before they could find provisions? It wasn't like he could order off a menu and they'd bring him food whenever he wanted.

He picked up object three and found he recognized it by weight almost immediately. The Prussian shed the papers away, revealing a small silver box. His lighter. He put it where it belonged in his pocket.

He unwrapped number four. He pulled the long, heavy, metal object from its veiling sheath of paper towels.

Oh hell yes.

Its long, slender blade glinted threateningly in the harsh fluorescent light. It was the ceremonial dagger that he was awarded upon his entrance to his rank. Inset in its hilt and embellished with silver were two SS runes and an eagle. Inscribed along the blade were the words 'Blut und Ehre' _. Blood and honor_. He always had the weapon on him, although he seldom used the keepsake. His bayonet was a hardier tool for cutting, which he usually used instead.

He ran the pad of his thumb along the crest of the blade, to test if the seldom-sharpened knife was still in usable condition. A crimson line formed along the surface of his white skin; a single drop of red pooling from the incision on the digit. He raised his hand to his lips and quickly licked the blood away. Yes, despite years of underuse, the blade was deadlier than a blunt razor. Gilbert grinned evilly and once again stowed it in his deep coat pocket.

The paper wrappings lay scattered on the floor where he had left them. He stood up and collected them, carefully folding them into a neat pile. He walked over his cot and plucked the English note from where he had left it. It was improbable that the brutes in the lower SS knew English and could translate it if found anyway -given he himself hardly could decipher the bothersomely irregular language- but it would only take an hour to find one of the British airmen. He placed it on top of the other pile of paper and pulled out his lighter. He couldn't be too careful when it came to evidence. He held it to the corner of the pile and flipped the switch. Hungry flaming tongues licked across the papers from the beak of the metal eagle, devouring the innocent white and scorching it into black carbon. He let it burn on the cement and kicked the hot ashes around the edges of the cell.

All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

Faint footsteps upstairs signaled the changing for the guards and that it was near 9 o'clock. He waited a minute to ensure that the first guard was gone, chances were that his brother wouldn't just run off without him. If he was too early, who knows what trouble would happen while he waited out in the open for his brother to finish whatever preparations he had in store? The holding prison likely wasn't especially large –or else he would have known more about it- so he gave himself a buffer of two minutes lost time, plus another two for traveling. That way he could be perfectly late.

He made sure he had all three of his objects with him, plus his cap, which he placed on his head. He grasped the key firmly and reached his hand between the bars towards the lockbox. He felt around for the keyhole and twisted it open. With his shoulder, he swung the heavy barred door ajar. He was underground, so it looked like he would have to find a stairway before he could find the exit. Gilbert switched the key out for the dagger in his pocket, gripping it firmly in his right hand. He raised it before him and stepped into the deserted hallway. Swift and silent, he started jogging in the direction of which the cell's numbers decreased.

* * *

**-Roderich Edelstein-**

Tomorrow morning was the day. Before dawn, there would be two less traitors in Auschwitz. Roderich halfway wished that Gilbert was loyal to the Nazis still, but the moment he ripped the swastika from his arm it was evident that it was a decision of his own, not merely an influence of Elizabeta. There was no place for turncoats such as him in the Third Reich and he had retracted his offer. The two deserved what was coming to them.

He slid the leather chair, confiscated from some Polish lawyer, out from under him, standing up behind his desk in the small office. Perhaps he should visit them one last time before the lynching at the Appell. He fiddled for the keyring on the black belt around his waist with his right hand, without looking. And kept fiddling.

He looked down, noticing it wasn't there. Gone. Vanished. Had he left it in the barracks? No, he never would have left it there. He was careful. Roderich Edelstein never lost things.

A memory from two days ago surfaced into Roderich's mind. When Ludwig had asked him for his brother's belongings. Roderich had bent down into the cabinet to retrieve them, and Ludwig was standing behind him, leaning slightly as he peered into the cabinet. He felt peculiar stirring on his belt, and later heard a high-pitched chime of metal when the German whirled out of the door….

Ludwig had been lying through his teeth! He was a traitor the whole time! He had stolen the prisoners' keys right out from under his nose!

"Mein Gott! LUDWIG! You filthy deserter!" he screeched, knocking the hardwood desk onto the floor. He bounded over it on long legs and bolted for the office door. Elizabeta's cell was just across the hall. She had to still be there! Roderich skidded to a halt on the cement, to find the previously occupied cell empty. The door was ajar and swinging slightly, as if it were only recently flung open.

Without hesitation the Austrian ran for the exit of the cell block, knowing that was the only logical direction Elizabeta would be headed. No doubt she would be desperate enough to take any risks, given how her execution was only hours away. But what of Gilbert? Was he free too, lurking behind some corner like a crimson-eyed ghost ready to sink a knife between his ribs? The fear-wrought adrenaline sent Roderich bulleting around the corner. With his right hand he unclasped his pistol from his holster between strides. He was going to shoot first and ask questions later.

He turned another hallway. He heard the muffled footsteps of bare feet and feminine panting echoing through the bare corridor. Elizabeta must be maintaining a pace a corner ahead of him. She probably realized the gravity of her situation the moment he had yelled out in realization of the betrayal of Ludwig. She had realized that something about whatever the three traitors were planning was found out. He cursed under his breath and raised the pistol as he ran. He fired out two shots as he whirled around the corner, noticing a plume of umber hair disappearing into the outside door of the prison building.

He bolted outside after the figure, full moonlight bathing the sleeping camp in its ghostly silver light as if it were day. A luxurious Mercedes thrummed on the pavement outside the holding prison. Where were the guards stationed at the prison doors?! They should be there in case of things like this! He just saw Elizabeta's silhouette slam the far-side backseat door of the jetblack car closed after her. In the driver's seat he noticed Ludwig, his hands gripping the wheel, looking into the backseat and barking orders. He noticed Gilbert's glowing red eyes behind his brother in the back. If he squinted past the tinted windows into passenger's seat he could see, in uniform…. Holy hell! Was that the Commandant? What was he doing there? Was he held hostage?

Roderich bolted forward, his pistol raised in both hands as he sprinted towards the purring vehicle. He aimed smartly at a tire.

Arms grabbed him from behind, restraining his midsection before he could break free and continue towards the black Mercedes. He tried to thrash away. Something hard rapped his knuckles and the pistol fell to the ashy ground. He felt the same thin and blunt something press against the front of his throat. His gaze flitted downward to notice the flashing blade of a chefknife, the dull straight back pressed in front of his throbbing jugular. Something white covered his mouth and nose just as he noticed the headlights of the car flash as it started up.

"Hey does this rag, like, smell like chloroform to you?"

Realization hit him faster than a Blitzkrieg. _Chloroform!_ Roderich thrashed, desperately trying to dislodge his assailant before his time ran out. With every breath, he felt the poison from the doused cloth dissolving into his lungs and through his bloodstream, sedating his thoughts. He tried to scream, but nothing came.

_Nononononononono…._

He turned his head to face his attacker, the blunt end of the cleaver pressing deeper into his skin. Green eyes flashed challengingly back at him, chin-length blonde tresses swaying as the boy counterbalanced Roderich's struggling with his own weight. The janitor kid! Roderich was met with a facetious smile, but the teen's jade eyes were anything but joking. This Pole was aware exactly of what he was doing. Roderich felt his knees buckle, the hands still firmly holding the poisoned rag in place as he collapsed.

"Lud! Drive!" the boy yelled.

Then Roderich's world faded into a warm, quiet, black.

* * *

**A/N:**

Chloroform was used as a medicinal sedative back in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, so Roderich is not immediately dead.

Feedback is appreciated,

Celticfeather


	23. Chapter 23

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert had thrown himself in the backseat of the vehicle panting, the unbloodied dagger still fiercely clutched in his right fist. He hadn't seen a single guard inside the small prison building, nor had he any outside when he had broken through the doors. Ludwig must have done something.

Thirty seconds after he had jumped in the backseat, Elizabeta too came running through the prison gates into the Mercedes. Without thinking it, his arms were locked around her protectively. Violently, almost. It had been less than a week since he had heard her voice, but it felt like an eternity. Elizabeta enthusiastically returned the gesture, kissing his forehead.

"If you two lovebirds are done reuniting," Ludwig hissed from the driver's seat, "you both had better get below the seats. Stop breathing loud and make it so no one can see either of you from the windows."

Gilbert pulled Elizabeta down with him, who was still embracing him, into the footspace of the backseats as Ludwig had ordered. It was a luxury car with more leg room than most, but he still found it cramped. He noticed on the floor was a bed sheet. "Ludwig, is this what you did with my bed while I was away?" Gilbert snickered, shawling the sheet around Elizabeta's shoulders and his own before locking an arm around her. He pressed himself against the floor of the car.

"Just hide, will yo-"

"Lud! Drive!"

It was Feliks's voice. Gilbert looked up sharply through the tinted window to see the boy standing in the courtyard behind Roderich, who had ran out after Elizabeta with a gun. How had Feliks gotten there?! The pistol lay clattered on the cement. Roderich was kneeling, the back of a knife pressed against his throat and a cloth over his mouth and nose. The boy shifted Roderich's body onto the ground squeamishly before returning his attention back to the vehicle.

"Did you not hear me? I said, like, get out of here!" Feliks screeched, hot tears spilling from his lashes.

Ludwig already had the window down. "Feliks, get in the car!"

"No, I told you! It's too ris-"

"Do you want to be tortured to death?"

With a moment of indecision, Feliks looked from side to side. He ran along the ground and picked up Roderich's pistol that lay on the walkway and ran towards the backseat. What adventures that constantly-getting-itself-stolen gun would be able to tell. Gilbert saw the Pole whirl around the car and leap into the backseat with him and Eliza.

"Shh, Feel, get under the sheet so they don't see us." Gilbert instructed, slowly catching on to Ludwig's plan. Wordlessly, the Pole obliged. But the boy shifted suddenly, kicking Gilbert hard in the side with a fearful squeak. "Ow-"

"Who the heck is that with you in the front?" Feliks whispered frantically from the other side of Elizabeta.

"You'll understand. We need to go. Hold onto something."

For Elizabeta, that something was Gilbert. Gilbert crouched down and held on to the bottom of the driver's seat with his left arm, his right bending protectively around Elizabeta. Feliks was clinging onto Elizabeta's leg like a child to his mother as he hid himself underneath the blanket. Had it been any other scenario, Gilbert might have strongly reminded the little Pole to keep his hands off. But at that moment, Ludwig hit the gas, heading for the exit of the camp. Gilbert glanced up towards the mirror into the passenger seat at the person Feliks had pointed out. Hollow blue eyes stared out the windshield, a fierce expression on the man's face, who appeared thirty or so. He had dark blonde hair and a strong, straight nose. The man was attired in an SS uniform, but the vikinglike braids that crossed his lapel marked him as a rank far exceeding that of Gilbert or even Ludwig. The red armband that adorned his left sleeve was magnificently embroidered with golden leaves. A shiver ran down Gilbert's spine.

The commandant? It couldn't be….

Gilbert had only seen the terrifying man a handful of times, and always from afar, but he wouldn't have expected the man to be so… thin? He risked another glance outside the windshield, and the metallic words Arbreit Macht Frei met his burgundy gaze. He noticed a striped hotizontal bar extending from a booth at the gates, blocking their passage. The gate was 800 meters away. 400m. 100m. 20m... Why didn't it open for them! Gilbert lurched as Ludwig was forced to stop the car. He saw the yellowed beams of a flashlight swinging from someone's hand from the outside of the car as the sentry approached. He heard a gloved knuckle knocking on the window, and Ludwig reached a hand over to crank it down. Gilbert shoved his head back under the sheet, veiled in the darkness of the night that seeped into the car.

"Sir, what are you doing leaving the camp at such an hour?" The guard asked. There was a pause, likely as the grunt realized what rank Ludwig was by his uniform. Gilbert grinned. The guard caught himself. "I'm sorry sir, it's my job to ask-"

"Shut up!" He heard Ludwig snarl, his voice drenched with a righteous rage. "Do you have any idea who this is?!"

"No sir, I'm sorry it's very dark in the car. Here-" the guard started raising the flashlight. Gilbert saw the mysterious man in the passenger seat stiffen.

"Don't you flash that thing in here! I'm driving Herr Baer out!" Ludwig screamed.

"Yessir! Sorry sir, I'll-!"

"Quit your sniveling! Open that gate up before I open you up!"

"Yessir!" Terrified, the guard scrambled away from the window, almost tripping in his desperation to get away. He fled into the guardhouse, appearing as if he had just about pissed himself. A moment later Gilbert heard a buzz, and the barrier was raised. Ludwig stepped on the gas.

He felt Elizabeta's ribcage thrum with her heartbeat as the lights of the camp receded behind them. He felt as terrified as she was. He saw Feliks push himself against the floor of the car, as if burying himself in the inanimate object would save him. Gilbert felt himself sweating too, feeling something should be going wrong. But the car kept driving. Very fast, actually, as his brother tried to put the first ground between them and the place of their escape. He risked a glance backwards to see the camp receding into the veil of winter fog; merely an unassuming dimming light on the horizon.

Did they just…. Drive out of Auschwitz? No explosions, or shooting or dying?

The three people in the back of the car stayed crouched in silence for several minutes more, as if just breathing too hard would bring the Nazis swarming around their headlights. Gilbert was the first to sit up, carefully placing himself on the seat. Elizabeta glanced up at him curiously, he offered her his hand and led her up on to the leather beside him. The car rumbled along the smooth dry road as Ludwig eased the gas faster.

"I can't believe we just..."

"Don't speak." Ludwig said, quietly. Gilbert understood. No one could hear them, but congratulating themselves seemed deadly premature.

Gilbert's gaze shot daggers at the unknown man in the front seat who Feliks had pointed out. The man next to his brother was sweating visibly, Gilbert could almost see him shaking. This was no commandant of Auschwitz.

"Ludwig, who is that in the front with you? I know full well it's not the Commandant." At his words, Gilbert noticed the silhouette in the passenger seat visibly stiffen. But in contrast to that, his younger brother only chuckled.

"Found us out, huh Gil?"

"It's not like you could take him hostage or anything. I say it's about time we can be filled in."

"Yeah, that's true. Borys, care to introduce yourself?"

The man in the front seat turned around to face the three young adults in the back. He grinned sheepishly. "Uh, hi. I'm Borys-"

"You're name's Borys? You say that like a Polish name! You must, like, be from Poland too!" Feliks said.

"Yes, I was a lawyer in Krakow, I speak four languages. I worked translating some documents for the officials. Scharführer Beilschmidt saw I happened to look a little bit like the Commandant. He stole me a uniform and-Well… uh. He found me one day and threa— er, persuaded, me to help him. I didn't think he'd actually hold up on his side of the bargain though. It looks like we're getting out of Auschwitz after all."

Ludwig nodded approvingly. "Yes, a man of my word I am. I was looking for someone to use as a valid excuse to leave the camp. So I molded Borys here to fit the part. I took a uniform from some of the prisoners who in a factory who made them. The car, of course, is stolen. But hopefully we won't attract a pursuer."

"A black Mercedes? Certainly not." Elizabeta said.

"There were only black Mercedes." Ludwig defended.

"What about the prison guards?" Gilbert questioned.

"I had to chloroform them. I dragged their bodies behind separate buildings."

"Is that what Feliks did to Roderich?" Elizabeta questioned, looking over to the Pole on the left. He grinned widely.

"Yup! I ran out when I saw Roderich on your tail. Ludwig had left one of his rags on the ground. I held the rag over his mouth just like an American gangster!" Feliks squealed. "Aren't you proud of me?"

Elizabeta nudged him. "Yeah, you sure saved our skins." She praised. The Pole beamed like a puppy. Gilbert too, had to admit that Feliks had played a rather useful part in their escape. But another question formed in his head.

"Ludwig… Where did you get the chloroform from?"

The car lurched suddenly. Gilbert looked at the dark road…. There were no pot holes to throw the car like that on the dry earthen path. Ludwig looked back sharply at his brother from the front seat. "It's not important," he said brusquely.

"Is something wrong?"

"I said drop it."

"Come on, tell us!" Feliks chirped, seemingly oblivious to Ludwig's apparent uneasiness. "I'm curious!"

"No."

"No?"

"Mengele! I went into his workshop and asked one of his underlings to borrow a bottle!"

A shiver ran down the Prussian's spine. He didn't know what his brother had witnessed on his quest. Or if the good Doctor had asked for any special favors of the SS man in return for the chemical. Or how Ludwig had reacted to whatever atrocities in the name of science he saw.

An awkward silence encompassed everyone in the car for a few moments. Except for Feliks, of course, of which Gilbert sensed a blithe confusion. He probably hadn't been in the main complex long enough to hear the terrible rumors. Gilbert pretended to be fascinated with the trees flashing past in the window when Feliks asked what a 'Mengele' was.

"I believe I have a question for you, brother," Ludwig said softly, breaking the silence.

Gilbert shifted, somewhat nervously. "Yes?"

"Your armband, it's gone."

It wasn't exactly a question. "Uh.. yes. It is."

"What did you do with it?" Ludwig asked.

"I took it off," Gilbert said simply.

"Oh," Ludwig noted. His voice was carefully devoid of emotion. Gilbert wished, for the first time, he could see inside his brother's head.

* * *

 

**-Elizabeta Hedervary-**

The Hungarian curled her knees up on the center on the seat, resting her head on Gilbert's lap as he stared out the window. Shawled around her shoulders was the sheet they had used to hide under. He wrapped a strong arm around her back, holding her in place. Elizabeta had not once dreamt since she had descended from the steps of the cattle car and into Hell's Gates.

But tonight, coiled up in the backseat of the Mercedes, she did. Whether it was a good dream or a nightmare, she would not know.

XXXX

Elizabeta stood highest on the raised platform of the cement of the Appellplatz. A cool Autumn wind ghosted her nose, unlike the wintery one she expected. The distant aspens flared in the fiery pigments of the north. Surrounded on four sides below her were crowds of people. Tens of thousands. Mostly men, with capped shaved heads and attired in blue and white stripped uniforms. Buttons laced up the centers the uniforms, stopping at short collars. She stood highest on the platform, on a stool. She looked behind her. A wooden construction was mounted into the cement and reached above her. A long rectangular beam of lumber stretched about two and a half meters into the air, with a horizontal piece branching off towards the front of the crowd. Attached to this short horizontal was a loop of thick rope. A noose. She was standing under a gallows.

She felt the stool creak beneath her as she shifted her weight on her feet. Behind her were countless men dressed in sharp black uniforms. Skulls and eagles adorned their caps. But in front of them, nearest to her stood two others; dressed the same. One of the black suited males wore his blond hair slicked back. He was tall and barrel-chested, with broad shoulders and sharp, angular facial features. He ate away at her with his fierce blue eyes. He smiled in anticipation. Another stood at his left, more reserved appearing and less physically impressive. He bore the long tapered fingers of an artist. He had dark brown hair, with a small mole on his chin. His eyes were a beautiful umber violet, like an ancient apothecary had mixed blueberries and dark clay together in his cauldron. He stared at her evenly and coldly, yet without the hunger for blood of his acquaintance.

A row of smaller hunched figures stood on the parapet of the nearest building, peering at her with beady eyes. Vultures. She hadn't been around for a camp lynching. She had heard that they kept the bodies out for a long time as a reminder…. But surely they didn't let the animals get at them, did they? Certainly the animals –instinct driven as they were- must have sensed something unsafe about the death reeking camp. One of the birds cawed hungrily in answer. Apparently not.

She felt the brunette guard look at her. He motioned at her with his chin. Step forward, he seemed to say. His indigo eyes were narrowed, impatient for this to be over.

The thousands of faces stared up at her. Elizabeta shifted nervously on the stool.

"Piyo!"

A little bird had flown up to her from where the vultures sat. It eyed her impatiently with its beady red eyes. She wasn't sure why, but she raised her index finger and extended her arm. The little bird landed on it, wrapping its tiny claws around the digit. It wasn't a species of bird she recognized. It was small, but with smooth black plumage. Crimson eyes. Yellow scales reached up its legs. For some reason, a thimble-sized red and gold crown was placed on its head and hadn't fallen off when it had flown over. The avian looked into her eyes and cocked his head.

She reached out a finger to stroke the back of its head softly. "Patience, little one. You'll have your feast soon enough."

"Piyo."

The blond guard looked at her questioningly. His face was set in a frown. He stared at her anxiously, almost as hungrily as the birds themselves. Why wouldn't the girl just jump already?

"Yeah yeah, I'm going I'm going."

Elizabeta raised her foot to take a step, when suddenly the bird in her hand felt heavier. A lot heavier. She looked at it, and noticed it was changing shape. It was expanding. The metal crown on its head expanded too. Soon, the little bird had grown to the size of an eagle. She felt her arm starting to bend under its weight. She looked behind her to see the blond and brunette guards gaping. It kept growing, its feathers becoming long and fierce like a rooster's tail, replacing the fluffy black down. Its golden beak sharpened, and a long pink tongue lolled out from between its parted jaws. As the dog sized creature grew, it leapt off her arm and alighted the cement before her leaving deep, red talon marks on the meat of her forearm. Soon it was as tall as she was. Still balooning upwards, its head reached the gallows above her. Eventually, the black monster was as colossal as a bull African Elephant before ceasing. It had raptor like legs, with golden scales reaching up to the joint of its backwards-facing knee. The monster had the fiercest, most intelligent red eyes she had ever seen. The massive head lowered to her level to look her in her emerald irises. Each eye of the feathered beast was easily as big as her palm. The garnet irises were ferocious and beautiful, like a round black disk of obsidian sloshing in a fiery sea of magma. Like fire, threatening to devour the lush green leaves of her own eyes. The telescopic pupil expanded and contracted as the monster examined her. She felt its warm breath puff out from its nostrils, scattering her hair behind her face.

The dragonesque bird reared back up to its full height, dismissing her. Its head shot up into the air and it screeched. It was a ferocious scream, like that of a swooping eagle. It clacked its razor sharp beak menacingly and glared down at her. Its hot breath smelled of rotting meat. She realized then that the monster wasn't even going to wait until her neck was snapped, it would eat her alive now. Elizabeta stood immobilized on the wooden stool; she was held helpless to run away or fight back by a thin necklace of rope.

The head crashed down, before it could deliver the killing blow it tore the noose away from her neck. Its head continued downward slowly, gently, until it hovered above the ground. The bird's wings unfolded and swept out to its sides in display beneath her. Around one of the long legs of the monster was a torn piece of red, white, and black fabric; but the yellow scaled appendage moved too swiftly for her to identify the cloth as anything more than a blur to her weak human eyes. Its tail fanned out stately behind it as the black head lowered to the cold cement. It was almost like a bow.

It fixed her in its crimson gaze again. This time, it wasn't so harsh. The head jerked slightly to the side on the ground. If she didn't know better, she would think it was beckoning her to come closer. It stared at her again, after she failed to comply, and jerked his head again. She stepped forward hesitantly from the stool, obeying the command of the dinosaurlike avian. She placed a hand on his thick neck, ruffling the feathers behind where its earslits would be. The bird's eyes closed, almost like he was enjoying the feeling of being stroked. He looked back at her again, this time a shoulder twitch gesturing behind himself. What did he want her to do now?

The bird's eyes narrowed. This girl just wasn't getting it. The bird pushed its beak between her shins, tossing the girl like a ragdoll over his broad back. She landed softly between his shoulder blades. The two guards were staring at her and the monster, completely flabbergasted. They each had weapons, no doubt, but neither attacked. The brunette one exposed a pistol out from his coat before backing away submissively. The bird reared up from his bowed position and shrieked. Elizabeta locked her arms around the throat of the creature, hanging on tightly. Its wings slid out from his side and flared into the cold air. It took a few running strides on the Appellplatz –prisoners swiftly parting for the giant- and with a beat of its mighty wings against the ground launched itself into the air, Elizabeta still dangling by her arms to its throat. The bird shifted in midair to right the passenger on his neck. Balanced between his shoulder blades, Elizabeta kneeled and grasped onto the long black feathers like the reins of a steed. The avian let out a triumphant screech, whirling in a circle in the air above the camp. With another flap of his wings the creature soared upwards, the wind sending her bronze hair whipping around her face.

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeta yelled above the wind.

The bird turned his head back to look at her; but of course, uttered no answer she could understand. She rose higher and higher on the back of the beast into the clouds. It was cold, and she found herself nestling against the long black feathers for warmth. The bird fluffed them up to make it easier for her. They soared like that until Elizabeta slowly saw a gap in the clouds below her. The bird corkscrewed neatly though it with an eased experience that would make a seasoned pilot of the Luftwaffe silent with awe. Water vapor twirled around the edges of its stiff primary feathers until the raptor leveled out again. The landscape she was met below her was lush and green, dotted with multihued squares of farmland. But beyond the farms and woodlands to the southwest rose a crest of icy mountains, rising up from the center of a continent. A snakelike blue river wove through the green land. Land was to the mountains' east and west. Beyond them she saw an ocean sparkling on the horizon, a boot shaped peninsula jutting into it. The bird kept gliding on the thermals towards the mountains.

**XXXX**

"Bird…tellmewhythemountains…"

"Liz? Why the mountains do what?"

"Youmustknow…yourareflyingthere…." Elizabeta squirmed on the seat, mumbling her thoughts into her breast. She cracked a green eye open slowly and looked into the creature's red eyes for answers.

"Good morning?"

The red eyes studied her cautiously. No, it wasn't the eyes of the bird that rescued her at all. It was Gilbert's crimson gaze of which she looked. Remarkable the similarity. She sat up in the seat, noticing Feliks was still asleep behind her curled in a ball on the floor like a fox kit. She blinked owlishly, rubbing her eyes. It was morning.

"Oh, good morning Gilbert. Did you sleep?"

"Not much, I took over some driving. You seemed to though, well enough."

Elizabeta noticed that the foliage of a forest was flashing by through the windows of the car, long shafts of oblique morning sunlight speared through the fronds of the tall pine trees. The earth was bare, and the tree trunks were dark and branchless until they reached the forest canopy. The road of which they drove was earthen and single laned, but relatively clear of debris. They appeared to be pretty far out in the middle of nowhere. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"South," Ludwig replied curtly, looking back from the driver's seat. If the man was tired from driving all night he didn't show it. "Other than that I don't know, exactly. I've been avoiding the cities."

"How's our petrol?"

"Maybe half," Ludwig answered.

She felt Feliks squirm below her. He stood up and flopped himself on the seat, shaking the car as it drove. "GOOD MORNING EVERYONE!" he bellowed, stretching his arms out to fill the back of the vehicle. Gilbert's eyes narrowed menacingly at the unwelcome noise, and Ludwig couldn't help but release a growl.

"Uh. Good morning, Feliks."

It was –what was his name? Borys?- Who spoke, sheepishly peering from the passenger seat with a goodnatured smile. "So, like, what's for breakfast?" Feliks asked nonchalantly into the air, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. He rested his feet on the headrest of the passenger seat where Borys sat.

Ludwig looked around from the driver's seat again, his hands still firmly on the wheel. "I thought I told you all to eat well before we left."

"What's that supposed to mean? We couldn't! So we like, don't have any food?!"

In answer Ludwig groaned and pulled over to the side of the road. Elizabeta slid to the right to slide into Feliks as part of the car was slanted off into the forest. The Pole squeaked as the car was put in park. Ludwig dug around in the glovebox, before pulling something out in his fist. It as a full sized loaf of bakery bread, wrapped in a paper bag. "I had brought this before we left. All I had time for. I didn't plan on having to eat it so soon though."

The blonde passed it back to his brother. "Care to do the honors, Gilbert?"

Understanding, Gilbert pulled out his dagger. He cleared a space on the seat and cut the rectangular loaf of bread into four -five- pieces. Right. One of each of them, plus that one guy, Borys.

She noticed Gilbert had cut the bread somewhat unevenly. One section was barely perceptibly larger than the others. Custom would require that the cutter chose last. He looked at her urgingly, his gaze flickering to the larger piece for a fraction of a second. Elizabeta recognized this. She picked the larger piece of bread, accepting the Prussian's gift. A hand each grabbed a piece of the bread, until there was one left, which Gilbert himself took after putting the knife back in his pocket. It wasn't a whole lot to split five ways. "Make it last." Ludwig announced.

"That's IT?" Feliks asked in disbelief.

"Poor Feliks," Ludwig chortled, "He hasn't been in the camp long enough to learn how to be hungry!"

"That's more than I can like, say for you!"

"I'm a soldier, I've been on iron rations before. Gil, too. I can deal. What your body really needs is water. Plus, if we get really hungry we can always eat Borys."

Horrified, Borys, Feliks and Elizabeta lurched back in their seats. Ludwig was joking, right? Ludwig's eyes glittered with sly humor, but it was always hard to tell with him.

"Why not just go into a town market and steal something?" Gilbert asked from beside her.

"Are you kidding me? Gilbert, you look like you wrestled a bear and then bathed in its blood. Not to mention you smell like a dead body. Eliza and Feliks look like starving orphans who decided to wander around in their pajamas. As for Borys, I'm sure the commandant of Auschwitz would attract some attention. Plus, I'm sure you are aware that the towns near all of the concentration camps have had their populations removed and replaced with Nazi-friendly Aryans. I have no way of knowing if we're out of that zone yet, or have driven into another. The only one among us who would not attract suspicion among civilization is myself. And even that's as a Nazi SS taking holiday without leave papers in a Polish farm town with the warfront only a few dozen kilometers away."

"Whatever. Just stop at the next farm we pass and I'll go in and steal some stuff, okay? We can use the money to buy Feliks and Elizabeta suitable clothing."

"What about me-" but Borys was cut off.

"Fair enough." Ludwig shrugged. He had nothing against 'foraging' in the countryside villages of southern Poland. It was when the Russians did it to his own people that it displeased him. That he did not like. When it came to German civilian mothers and children he had the highest sense of honor. It was them who he was fighting for. For his vision of a greater Germany.

Elizabeta did her best to ignore the talk of this dark but necessary business and looked out of the window. She took small bites from the piece of bread, to quell her hunger but was fearful to eat it too quickly. Elizabeta wasn't sure when they'd re-enter civilization again. It could be days driving through the woods like this, and she wasn't even sure it would be smart to enter a town. Borys was nibbling on his piece as she was. She noticed that Gilbert, Ludwig, and Feliks had already made their slices of carbohydrate disappear. Perhaps they weren't as well disciplined with food as they had thought.

* * *

**A/N**

The idea of escaping by disguising someone as the commandant was inspired by the escape of Kazimierz Piechowski, who was one of only 144 prisoners to escape Auschwitz. In his 1942 escape he and three friends used Rudolph's Höss's car, the first and most famous Commandant of Auschwitz, and wore stolen Nazi uniforms. But because of the year of this story, I had to use Richard Baer instead, as the infamous Höss was not Commandant at that time. In Piechowski's escape they impersonated normal SS officers instead of the Commandant himself. Rudolph's Höss was so outraged upon hearing about this escape that less than a month later he ordered use of tattooing the numbers onto prisoners, so they would be recognized outside of camp as an inmate. That is how the tattooing started.

The 'foraging' Ludwig mentions implies stealing and looting from the houses in the land of conquered people. Often women and children are raped, which the Red Army did a lot upon entering Berlin. This is why Ludwig is annoyed by it, even though the Nazis themselves –as with all occupying armies in some way or another- are guilty of it. Another famous instance where this foraging was legalized and encouraged, and how the term began in English, was during the American Civil War, when Union soldiers under Sherman burned and looted Confederate homes of food and valuables.

Celt.


	24. Chapter 24

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert leaned back in the driver's seat, hands pressed on the black leather wheel of the Mercedes. Progress had been well despite not one among them actually ever having earned a driving license. The midmorning light of the next day dappled the road through the shadows of the leaves. What day was it anyway? The 23rd of December? The 24th? Certainly it was still 1944, right? He had lost count. Maybe he'd ask his brother when he woke up: he was good at that stuff. Ludwig had done enough driving and was sleeping in the back next to Elizabeta. Even in his slumber the younger man appeared intensely alert, as if he was sitting in calculating silence the whole time and could see right through his eyelids. His thin lips were pressed in a stern line- Gilbert wondered what his brother dreamt about to make him appear so angry.

He turned another corner in the road and the thinning pine trees disappeared into a dry, harvested plain. Gilbert noticed a white picket fence along the side of the road, a large white farmhouse and a red barn situated high on a hill about a thousand meters away. It looked like they were entering civilization again. The albino pulled the jet black car over to the side of the road, hiding it in the dappled shadows of the trees. He looked back to Elizabeta who previously had been staring out the window, but met his gaze with raised eyebrows upon him halting the car. "Eliza, can you wake Ludwig up?" he asked politely.

Before Elizabeta could comply, the blonde's eyes flickered open on command.

"Yes, Gilbert?"

"Uh, I saw a farm house…."

"Ah. _I see_." Ludwig said with understanding, brushing his hair out of his eyes and slicking it back over his skull. He flipped his SS cap back on his head. He pulled the bread he had saved from yesterday out of his pocket and in a few bites finished it. Ludwig checked his gun, slid the bullets out, and then carefully placed them back in again. He stood up.

"Wait, like where are you guys going?" Feliks asked, sensing he was missing the esoteric silent communication between the German brothers.

"We're going to rob that house over there," Gilbert said simply.

"Wait, you guys can't just like, go around robbing people's houses!"

"I prefer the term _'foraging,'_ " Ludwig added with a sly smile, "and sure we can."

"But that's not, like…. The Polish are already starving to death."

"We really don't have another choice, Feel." Gilbert said, fixing the teen with a semi-remorseful frown. "We're gonna die out here in the woods unless we do something."

"Well… I guess if we _have_ to… but-"

"Feliks, you picked up Roderich's gun when you came in the car, correct?" Ludwig asked, cutting him off.

"Oh yeah!" the boy chirped, messing around in his jacket. "I almost forgot about that!" he pulled the small pistol out.

"Give it to Gilbert."

"Shouldn't we leave a gun with them, in case something happens while we're gone?" the platinum haired male interjected, turning around from the front seat.

Ludwig was quiet for a moment as he considered this, but then slowly shook his head. "No, if you were without a gun it would make you a weak spot in the mission. The chain is only as strong as the frailest link. Perhaps leave your knife with them, though."

"Fair point." Gilbert pulled his dagger out of his coat. Borys was probably the strongest of the three ex-prisoners…. But he wasn't sure he could trust him to protect Elizabeta and Feliks if his own life was on the line. He had been meaning to talk to Ludwig about the older Pole anyway. He was just a tool that had fulfilled his purpose. All the man was now was another mouth to split their food with, perhaps he could convince his brother to ditch the old guy at the next town they passed. Gilbert handed the weapon to Elizabeta instead. She took it firmly, with both hands. Gilbert patted them. "Be smart."

In turn Feliks handed him Roderich's pistol. "Just like, don't kill anyone."

The Prussian took it. "Nothing unnecessarily, Feliks. Ludwig, ready?"

His brother opened the door in answer. "You three will be able to see the house from up here. If we're not back in an hour don't look for us, just drive, understand? Elizabeta, this goes without saying: you are in charge of decision making while we're away," Ludwig said.

The aforementioned Hungarian nodded determinedly. Feliks pouted at the blatant disregard of his ability to lead, but he did not fight it. Borys on the other hand seemed slightly peeved that a woman a decade younger than him had been put in charge. Gilbert understood his reason, but didn't find he particularly cared. He opened his door too and sank the soles of his boots on the dusty road. "Bye Eliza, Feliks, Borys. Ludwig: let's go."

XXXX

The two soldiers were already down the hill, and had begun climbing the next one that lead up to the house. If Gilbert squinted, he could see the Mercedes hidden in the trees on the hill above him. No doubt the car's three passengers were watching the two Teutons from its tinted windows. 'No sense wasting energy being stealthy,' Ludwig has said to him. 'There is no cover, just grass. Just stay out of sight from the windows and doors.' So the pair romped up the hill in their heavy German boots.

"Ludwig, what do you think ever happened to Roderich? I almost feel bad that he keeps getting his ass kicked by us. _Almost."_

"Don't know," Ludwig replied, stepping over a rock as the two advanced closer to the unsuspecting house. "He probably got pity the first time, but I'm sure his superiors are not particularly happy about him lousing up twice. Although the first time he only stumbled upon you two by chance."

"I guess. You don't think the Nazis will come after us way out here, do you?"

"No. Customarily we only search for escapees three days after the alarm is called. And honestly I think we're starting to embarrass them at this point. Maybe if it were just the prisoners they'd come after us, but spreading around that two guards defected from them will spread unwanted ideas throughout the rest of the ranks. They'll probably just cut their losses," Ludwig noted.

"You don't think they'll kill Roderich, do you?"

His brother was quiet. He looked down to the ground and slowed his march. "I hope not."

Gilbert matched his silence. He wasn't friends with Roderich, the austrian was a snobbish asshole. Gilbert had bullied the smaller Austrian boy as a kid, even; but he didn't deserve to die, he was just doing his job.

"I'll take the front door, you take the back," Ludwig said. The two Germans were standing in a blindspot between the front door and a window. Gilbert nodded once in compliance.

"Hold anyone inside at gunpoint and confine them either to a room or outside. If you suspect any resistance whatsoever, shoot them." Ludwig ordered, assuming the lead of command. Gilbert agreed. His brother –despite all his flaws- had proven himself a brilliant strategist.

"Yessir." Gilbert laughed, and pressed his back against the panels of the house. He fixed the pistol out from his coat and held it on both hands "Godspeed, Ludwig."

His brother smiled. "There is no God. Providence just gave us Adolf Hitler," and disappeared around the front.

Gilbert was glad that he was born too early in the war to be completely brainwashed.

Noiselessly, the Prussian crept around to the back of the old white farmhouse, ducking around the windows. He found himself on the back porch, a wooden door blocking his entrance. He took a few deep breaths and as many steps backwards. He shifted his pistol to his left hand.

With a final breath he charged up the steps. He leaned back and sent a roundhouse kick into the old white wooden door. It crumpled under the force, splinters of wood exploding as the frame was ripped from the deadbolt. It clattered on the floor inside the house and Gilbert landed catlike on top of it. He held his gun in one hand, the other arm balancing his landing. "Everybody down or I start shooting!" he screeched in his harsh German.

But he did not receive an answer. After sweeping the room he did not see evidence of a single inhabitant. No terrified screams from an adjacent room, either. The only person his burgundy gaze met was Ludwig, who stood in front of him inside the house with an equally confused look on his face. He must have gotten through the front door before him. Gilbert relaxed, standing up from his offensive crouch on the knocked-down doorframe. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

His brother shook his head. "Come see this."

Wordlessly, Gilbert followed Ludwig through the farmhouse into another room. Their heavy black boots echoed on the floors. It was a nice house, big and quaint, with white walls and old oak floorboards. Threadbare rugs lined the floors. Ludwig disappeared behind the entrance to the long dining room and Gilbert followed suit. His mouth fell open.

"What does it mean?" Gilbert couldn't help but choke out.

Inside the dining room, the table was set and laden with food. Dinner for a large family, though it was midday. Water and wine filled tall glass pitchers. Wildflowers were drooping in vases. Some of the plates had bits of uneaten food on them, as if the home's inhabitants had began to serve themselves, and then disappeared out of thin air. Chairs were pushed and thrown away from the table, some upturned on the floor. Gilbert slowly paced over to a basket of bread on the table, his bootclicks echoing through the silent house. He broke a roll open. It was fiercely hard on the outside, but cold and slightly fluffy on the inside.

"Maybe a few days old..." Gilbert voiced, turning the roll around in his hand, as if examining the stale bread further would give him more clues to the fate of the family who had inhabited the house.

"I already searched the rest of the first floor, haven't seen a soul."

"What do you think it all means?" Gilbert said, ravenously tearing out the fresher center of the roll and putting it in his mouth.

"I don't know. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make the family flee for their lives in the middle of dinner," Ludwig noted, a trace of suspicion finding its way into his voice.

The men wordlessly and roughly began to sample from the table. They learned the insides of the large breads were fresh. The raw vegetables yes, the cooked not. Flesh was a delicacy even farmers could not afford. The wine was soured by the air, but Gilbert thought it would have good vitamins, and sipped it anyway. They sated themselves quickly, and rather than eating, Gilbert felt more like he was throwing objects away in a sack for later use.

"What could do this?" he said, setting down the emptied wine cup.

"I don't know. But this place gives me a bad feeling. I'll go upstairs and take whatever valuables I can find. Find a bag, take what's left."

"Be careful, Lud."

His blond brother disappeared up the staircase into the bedrooms. The Prussian was left alone in the eerie silence as Ludwig's footsteps faded away. Gilbert picked a direction and started walking. After passing several empty but eerily frozen rooms he reached what appeared to be the living room. He saw where a fire had burned itself out on the brick hearth, he also noted a brown leather messenger's bag strewn a coffee table next to a large radio. With a corner tucked underneath the radio was a large map. Deciding it could be useful, Gilbert folded the map neatly and placed it in the bag. He picked the bag up. It was by no means what he would consider stylish, but it would serve the function of carrying things better than his hands. He looped the brown tote over his shoulder and set back towards the kitchen.

He picked the table of edibles, opened the doors to the pantry, and there found some raw potatoes and few bundles of Polish ration cards. He marched back into the dining room and started dumping the bread in. Even if it was stale on the outside, in a few days, he'd still call it edible to two German soldiers and a trio of starving ex-Auschwitz prisoners.

Gilbert heard the clunk of boots as Ludwig descended back down the creaking wooden stairs. Ludwig displayed his quarry in his hand. Wrapped around his black-gloved fist were a few chains of silver and amber jewelry. Gilbert nodded approvingly and opened the bag. Ludwig dumped the silver inside, snatching a sterling silver candle holder from the table and tossing it in the sack for good measure.

"We done here?" the blond asked.

"Just about. I wanted to check the barn outside. Maybe we can find some meat."

Ludwig nodded firmly. "Being in this deathtrap is making my instincts go crazy anyway."

"Agreed."

Gilbert in the lead, they silently marched out of the farmhouse and onto the back porch, stepping over the door he had kicked down. The Prussian's boots crunched on the dry grass as the pair made their way towards the red rickety barn at the bottom of the hill. The sun was high in the sky and the wind blew the overgrown coppery grass in waves.

"Lud, you don't think that whatever scared that family away is still nearby, do you?" the elder asked coolly as they walked, dry sward crunching under his boots.

The blond shrugged. "How should I know. If it is, we'll just shoot it up. I don't know of much that would choose to mess with a couple of SS."

"That's true."

Gilbert halted outside of the barn doors, the bitter winter chill buffeting his collar around his face. The rickety construction was wooden and peeling in decade old brown paint. Pine logs highlighted some of the structural beams and the double door in two 'X's. The arched roof consisted of sunbleached gray wooden shingles, punctuated with holes. It was a fairly sizeable construction, stretching up two stories. Ludwig pulled out the horizontal wooden bar that braced the doors together and with a thrust of his arms slung the thick beam of lumber onto the ground. Gilbert stepped in front of his brother and threw the barn doors open. It was dark inside, but his pigmentless eyes quickly adjusted.

Straw matted the dim earthen floor. Animal stink greeted him and as his gaze swept the sides of the barn the soldier noted a crate of hens, and a ribbed cow. Continuing to sweep his gaze through the dim barn he saw— Oh God _. No! Not with Ludwig here._

A family was huddled in the center of the barn; staring fearfully at the two black-suited, German-uttering soldiers who stood silhouetted in the light of the doors like a pair of Death's messengers. Certainly it was not the family that had run from the house, that family must have hidden these people in their barn, for these tattered souls looked like they had been hiding in the substandard shelter for months. Years, even. Their clothing was dirty and tattered, and hung loosely over their thin frames. For a moment Gilbert saw a different person standing there in the shafts of light, bronze hair matted, green eyes staring at him defiantly as she silent raised her arm…. It was a family of four. A mother, a father, and two daughters. The eldest female looked about fifteen, wrapped protectively in the arms of her mother who gaped at the two Germans as if they were the Grim Reaper himself. The father took a protective step in front of his family, locking his eyes courageously, terrifiedly, with the two SS in the barn. The youngest girl was probably six. Dirt smudged her smooth face, but she smiled oddly at the shocked Gilbert. She did not understand the danger she was in. Her hair was black and curly, with sparkling brown eyes. Her dimples were showing as she looked at him.

He felt Ludwig shift next to him.

_No_

Ludwig dug his hand into his coat.

_Please._

A gleaming piece of metal was fished out.

_Ludwig, not now._

And aimed at the man's chest.

_"Verdammte Juden!"_ Ludwig hissed.

_"NO!"_

He slapped his brothers' weapon to the floor before his fingers could close around the lethal trigger. The firearm clattered on the earth, scattering straw as it spun.

"Gilbert, what are you doi-"

"Shut the hell up you fucking bastard! I can't believe you!"

"Gilbert, they're Jews in hiding. I hav-"

Gilbert slapped a hand across his brother's face with such a livid ferocity it surprised even the Prussian himself. Ludwig looked down at his shorter brother astonishedly, a hand clutching his face, hurt in more ways than one. Rage and betrayal shone from Ludwig's hawklike blue eyes.

"You don't _have_ to do anything, Ludwig! Germany has lost the war whether you kill these people or not! Murdering them won't help us."

"I don't underst-"

"You idiot! Do you know how long these people have probably been here? To come so close to the end of the war -to freedom- only to die? To get killed by you?!"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're a God damned monster, Ludwig!"

Ludwig bit his lip and bent down slowly to retrieve his pistol from the earthen floor. The whole time, the Jewish family was watching in silence, unaware of what the foreign words being hurled between the two soldiers meant. For a moment Gilbert was anxious, but the blond roughly stowed the gun back in his coat, rather than point it.

"Look at yourself, Gilbert. You think that you're any less of a monster than I am." Ludwig said evenly. His previous betrayal had vanished. He fixed his brother in a stare colder than a Russian winter.

"I am not like you anymore."

Ludwig shook his head slowly, looking at the ground disappointedly. "You are a fool to think that. That dragging the emaciated body of one Hungarian girl out of the gas chambers can change anything you've done. What you've stood for."

Ludwig paused for a response, but received none. Ludwig opened up the doors behind him, whatever livestock they had intended to steal forgotten. "I am going to the car. I expect to see you there momentarily, with four less shots in your gun." He slammed the door violently behind him. Straw fell from the rafters at the impact. The hens began to chatter.

Gilbert watched him leave and said nothing. A shiver went down his spine, but he did not think it was from the wind. He felt alone, but firm in his reasons. The Prussian turned back to the family, stiffening automatically soldierlike when he saw them.

The father seemed to understand the confrontation. He released his arms slowly from around his wife. He said something in Yiddish, fixing Gilbert with an earnest gaze.

Gilbert blinked, processing what the older Jew had just said. On a good day, German and Yiddish were fifty percent mutually intelligible. Maybe it was something of thanks, of Godspeed, of take what you want.

"Your housemates aren't in the big house anymore, so don't expect them to come by," Gilbert informed.

The father nodded staidly once and made a gesture to the outside with his hand. "Rusische."

Gilbert turned to leave through the barn doors. But he felt something tugging on his sleeve. He looked behind him to see the little girl. She smiled at him, brown eyes sparkling. She pulled something out of her own sleeve and pressed it into Gilbert's palm.

He held it up in the light to see it. It was a yellow flower. A dandelion, it looked like. He had no idea how the little girl had obtained it. He twirled it in his gloved hand by the soft purplish-green stem.

"Uh, thanks," he said _._

She laughed gleefully at this and shook her head. She squeaked something in Yiddish and motioned exaggeratedly with her little hands for Gilbert to go lower. The soldier bent down on his knees on the dusty ground to look the child questioningly in her brown eyes. She took the flower from his hand and placed the fluffy yellow ball carefully in his black cap. She tucked it right behind the metal eagle on the front. She wove the stem clumsily inside the arms of the swastika the bird clutched in his talons. From a certain angle the disk of the sulfur-colored flower completely obscured the swastika, although he doubted the young girl was old enough to understand what the symbol stood for. She folded her hands at her side and looked above his eyes.

"Der foygl leyx es," the little girl said, smiling proudly and pointing at the front of his cap. _The bird likes it,_ as he understood it.

He tapped the emblem on his cap in understanding. "Yes, he does."

"Gezunt."

Gilbert nodded at the girl and started out of the door. He felt them staring at his receding figure. He had decided nothing was worth time slaughtering from the barn. The tender eye of day was perched high and proud on its zenith and they had still farther to flee. He scanned the golden hills between him and the forest hill he knew the car was perched on. Where he knew Elizabeta would be waiting for him. Where _Ludwig_ would be…..

Gilbert was a fool to think that he and his brother could get along so well once the split in their ideologies occurred. Nazism just didn't allow for that. Someone was either part of the problem or part of the solution. The final solution.

He took a breath and started marching down the hill, noticing where a path of the tall grassland had been pressed down when Ludwig had departed. He didn't walk in it, but carved his own way through the grass. Gilbert adjusted the bag of stolen food on his shoulders and broke into a trot towards the car, the cold winter wind bowing the grasses in waves as if it were an ocean instead of a plain. He gritted his teeth against the cold and slid into the treeline at the side of the road. He heard the giant trunks moan in protest of the powerful wind. He pressed his hand against the wind-chilled handle and slid into the backseat of the car. Ludwig was in the driver's seat again, and didn't acknowledge his presence. Feliks looped his arms around him with a squeal. After Gilbert had less-than-lovingly shoved the boy off, Ludwig eyed him sternly, cutting off Elizabeta as she went to hug him.

"Did you do it?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes in answer, giving a barely perceptible shake of his head. Ludwig snorted in disgust and turned his back, thrumming his fingers on the wheel. The rest of the occupants of the car were left to interpret this however they would choose.

Ignoring the waves of betrayal radiating off of Ludwig, Gilbert went to Elizabeta. The Hungarian wrapped her warm arms around him. He returned the embrace, the warmth of her body slowly leeching the cold away from his bones. He held her there for a while, her face nuzzling neatly into the crook of his neck. She looked up at him and smiled, green eyes sparkling. She plucked the flower out of his cap and examined it.

"Gil, where's this from?"

"I'm sorry Lizzie, I've been cheating on you with a six year old." he snickered hollowly. She didn't know what he meant, of course, but she trusted him enough to laugh anyway.

"What is in the bag?" Borys asked. Ludwig remained silent during all of this.

"We found some food. Ludwig found some silver too; we can sell it next time we reach a town."

Feliks looked up. "Food? Can I have some now? Oh, you didn't actually have to kill anyone inside the house with the gun, did you?" Feliks asked.

"No. It didn't come to that. The house was abandoned." Gilbert answered. The Pole didn't know exactly how close the statement infringed upon a lie.

"I wonder why such a mansion was abandoned," Elizabeta said.

"Yeah, so can we like, eat now?" Feliks piped up.

"I wouldn't object to that," Elizabeta purred.

"Me neither," Borys added politely.

Ludwig said nothing, but turned around in his seat.

Gilbert dug out the bag and pulled out the rolls. He assumed they should just eat them first, since they would probably go bad before the other stuff anyway. He handed each person two. "Sorry it's stale," he announced, but his words fell on deaf ears. Feliks, Eliza, and Borys were already eating. Ludwig was too, turned around in his seat like Borys to face the center of the car as if there were an invisible table. The Germans said nothing of their feast and allowed themselves each another roll. They were the only ones bothering to be civil when they ate, although Gilbert had to give Borys and Elizabeta credit for trying. Feliks was tearing apart his bread like some sort of hungry puppy. Gilbert met Ludwig's fierce blue gaze accidently for a moment, before quickly focusing on his bread. But he still felt his brother staring into him intensely. He shifted under the stern cobalt eyes.

"Ludwig, you seem distant," Elizabeta said to his rescue, of course.

"No, Elizabeta, everything is just fine."

The woman eyed him suspiciously and turned back to her food. If something was wrong, she'd find it without asking the German directly. Gilbert lowered his head and locked eyes with her in a _we-will-talk-later_ sort of gesture. She looked into his dark crimson eyes and nodded silently.

XXXX

Ludwig drove. Gilbert wasn't really keeping track of the time, all he knew was that Elizabeta was sleeping on his lap in the back of the car and he was happy. Gilbert wasn't sure if they were still in Poland or had driven into Czechoslovakia. He could just tell by their orientation to the setting sun that they were going Southwest….ish.

"Scharführer, someone is standing up there on the road." It was Borys who spoke up, diagonal to him in the passenger's seat. Gilbert cracked an eye open to peer through the two headrests into the frost-painted windshield. Elizabeta's head shifted on his lap, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"I don't see anything, Borys," the Prussian said, leaning for a better view, even though the question had been aimed at his brother. Ludwig kept driving.

"Look… there's a man there, see him? In the gray? He's got one of those folded-up gray fur hats with a red star on it."

A shiver ran down his spine. A _red_ star? It couldn't be...

Urgently, Gilbert stood up in the moving car to brace either hand between the two front seats. A few hundred meters away a man stood silhouetted in the fog, perfectly centered in the middle of the road, staring at the car. And no doubt, he wore a gray furred Ushanka with a red star in the center. Inside the star, if he squinted just right, was a golden hammer and sickle…..

The Prussian felt Ludwig stiffen with recognition at the same moment he did.

Gilbert yelled "Stop the car!" the same moment Ludwig started speeding it up. He noticed the green-gray suited figure heave something onto his shoulder and point it at the speeding vehicle. The Soviet smiled sweetly upon recognizing the three handsomely dressed Nazi SS uniformed men through the windshield.

"Ludwig, the hell are you doing? I said stop the car! We'll snipe him out then! He's got an RPG-7, an antitank! He'll blow this Mercedes up like it was made of playing cards!"

"Sit down!" Ludwig yelled back at Gilbert. "The car is the best weapon we've got. We'll run the Russo bastard down before he loads." Ludwig pressed his full weight on the gas, rocketing the Mercedes forward.

"And stumble into the next town with a wrecked car? If he doesn't blow our asses up first!"

"Why don't you make yourself a useful soldier for once in this and shut up!" Ludwig retorted.

The Prussian thought there was no way Ludwig could run the Russian down before he could shoot the bazooka, it was already aimed at the car. Instinctively, Gilbert grabbed the wheel.

"Get off, traitor!" Ludwig hissed, pushing his brother away.

"I said turn the damn car off the road! I'll shoot the Commie bastard!"

"There's no time, idiot!"

Gilbert and Ludwig wrestled like bulls for the wheel, Feliks's panicked screams adding a music to their brawl. Borys was frantically trying to calm the two soldiers down from the passenger seat but was completely ignored. Elizabeta had reverted to cooing in Hungarian as she tried to subdue the panicked younger Pole, and started hastily hooking seatbelts around her waist and that of the squirming Feliks.

"Quit fighting and let me drive, Ludwig!"

"What kind of German are you?"

"One that's not going to be covered in gas and on fire in five seconds!" Gilbert snatched for control of the vehicle a final time. Ludwig wrestled it away, overcorrecting and sending the speeding car onto the grass along the road. Gil noticed a big, thick tree trunk rapidly growing between the headlights.

"Get down!" He felt something wrap around his waist. It was Elizabeta pulling him back from his standing position and into the backseat as she braced for the inevitable impact. He landed in the backseat on top of her.

A heartbeat after there was a hot crunch of metal as the hood of the Mercedes crashed against the tree. It wasn't a center-hit, and rather than absorbing the impact fully the car fishtailed. Wood moaned and bent in protest. The tires screamed against the ground and debris was hurled up into the air by the spinning rubber.

The car was quiet except for a slowing ticking. No one spoke. Gilbert was breathing hard, still locked in Elizabeta's arms. He was unharmed. Feliks crouched frozen with wide eyes in the back, but physically unscathed. A glance into the mirror revealed Ludwig and Borys as alive, too. Elizabeta was okay as well, if not a bit crushed by his weight when she pulled him back on top of her. He heard the ticking of the engine slowing down. No flames spewed from the crushed hood. Then: a different ticking. A knocking on the window from outside.

Almost comically, blood dripping from a glass cut in his forehead, Ludwig instinctively cranked down the window.

"Hello!"

The voice was cheery and sweet, thankfully in German, but layered with a Slavic accent so thick Gilbert could cut it with a knife. The man was the biggest the Prussian had ever seen, not just tall but heavily built as well. He had pale skin and strange light blonde hair, but it seemed to be strangely unsaturated of its color for a man likely in his late-twenties or thirties. A round eastern face and a big, curving nose. He wore a standard uniform, but a long gray scarf hung wrapped once around his throat. He had childlike violet eyes, not unlike those of a certain Austrian he knew. Only these held a coldness akin to the lands of which they came. The Soviet was met with a fearful silence by those in the car, but he seemed to expect this.

"You all come out of car now, da? I think that be good idea. And you lay all guns have down on road."

More silence. Feliks stared at the allied soldier blithely, and Borys stared at him, horrified. Gilbert and Ludwig were both seething with rage, but at the Russian, rather than each other. Elizabeta was the only one who did not display weakness in the form of emotion.

"And what if we don't?" It was Ludwig who eventually spoke, fixing the Russian with a glare. Gilbert noticed his brother sneaking a suspicious hand into his coat.

"German pigs do not want play nice. Okie."

The Soviet smiled sweetly and stepped away from the window. The albino blinked, was this man shell-shocked and had gone crazy? Enemies were not just let go. Before Gilbert realized what was wrong, the Russian had thrown open the driver's door and grabbed his brother. He pulled the black-suited SS out of the door so fast he couldn't even struggle. The two meter Soviet was so massive he dwarfed Ludwig, even made Gilbert look small. He locked a thick arm around his brother's throat, the other restraining his gloved hands behind his back in a fluid motion. He leaned the bazooka on the ground and exchanged it for a pistol, which he promptly held to Ludwig's temple.

"For every gun I find in car I put one hole in Blondie's skull."

Alas, Gilbert had finally figured out what had scared that family that hid the Jews away. They had heard the terrifying Red Army on their doorstep.


	25. Chapter 25

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

The door was thrown open, the Soviet soldier staring at Gilbert and Borys through the open door with a childish smile as he held the pistol to Ludwig's temple. The purplish afternoon light spilled into the car. The Russian slid a hand into Ludwig's side pocket and pulled his astra out, flipping the finely-crafted firearm onto the road with a flick of his thick wrist. It spun and clattered on the hard asphalt until it disappeared under the car and into the grass.

"We not be needing this anymore."

The blonde didn't move his body a centimeter, but through slitted eyes his acid-blue pupils scalded the Russian. He lifted his chin, but made no further move to struggle free.

"You hear me, yes? Both Nazis come out of car now, hands up. Put guns on road."

Both _Nazis._ He must have meant Gilbert and Borys, who was dressed as one. The Soviet must not have seen her or Feliks, the windows were too tinted. She sank low into the seat. Escaping from Auschwitz was too easy, deep down in her heart she felt there would be some kind of further complication: she never would have expected it from an allied soldier. She had also sensed that something wasn't quite right between the two brothers after they had returned from the farm, but it certainly wasn't the most important thing now. Gilbert eyed her from the front and whispered something disyllabic urgently to her, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him out too.

"Out! Now!"

The soviet was becoming impatient, drumming his fingers on the handle of the pistol he held to Ludwig's head. Borys stumbled out as well.

"Please, sir, this isn't what it looks like. I'm not actu-!" Borys pleaded.

"Be quiet. Or else I decide make you quiet permanently. Put your guns on ground."

"I don't have an-" Borys was cut off as the Russian kicked him ruthlessly to the to the hard asphalt. He did not get up.

"I do not like _Germans_. I do not like _liars_ even more. Do not test patience. Now, red eyes. Put your gun on the ground and take any out of car."

Gilbert looked him in the eye and lightly dropped his pistol on the ground. "There are no guns in the car." He said it assertively, defiantly, with his chin raised. He did not beg for a moment to speak like Borys had.

The Soviet eyed him suspiciously. "Between three Nazi SS, only two pistols? Ha. I would expect at least three pistols _and_ three rifles. Get out papers."

"Papers?" Gilbert questioned.

"Registration. Identification. Whatever." The Soviet ordered. "Serial numbers."

"Why?"

"I want to know who I be killing. Make sure is no one important I use to trade. I not risk any surrender from dishonest soldiers. Especially such poor liars." The Soviet stated, rather evenly.

Feliks prodded her desperately from the backseat, his eyes wide with panic. "Lizzie! He's gonna shoot them! We have to do something!" he whispered.

"Shhhh, he doesn't know that we're back here! I'm thinking!"

Elizabeta's mind whirled desperately as to what she could do. Borys was down, not that he'd be any help anyway. Ludwig –likely the strongest of them- was held at gunpoint. Gilbert was outside and would be useful for hand to hand combat, but had sacrificed his only arms to save them all from an immediate death. She and Feliks were unarmed too. Wait… no. That wasn't entirely true.

She gulped. A memory surfaced.

_"I'm glad you like, think that, Lizzie. But I'm not really a fighter like the rest of you."_

_"What are you talking about? I'm not a fighter; Gilbert and Ludwig are the real soldiers between us four."_

_"Yeah, but you'd like, kill someone, if you had to… right?"'_

Feliks had proven his bravery that night he had left the camp, even though he claimed he didn't want to fight. For whatever reason, the boy had lied. Now, it was her turn. She recognized the word that Gilbert whispered to her before the Red Army soldier had dragged him out. _Dagger!_ Having forgotten about it, she quickly pulled it out of her pocket. She ran her finger along the blade. Inscribed along the steel in a gothic script were the words _'Blut und Ehre.'_ Yes… there would be blood. But honor? She wasn't so sure.

"I know what we have to do to save them, Feliks." she murmured. She revealed the dagger. He stared at it horrifiedly.

"Are you sure, Lizzie?"

"Do you know of any other way? He hasn't been listening to what they've been saying, and he certainly wouldn't trust them if they told him the truth. I'll jump out when he's distracted and…" She couldn't quite bring herself to finish. She looked back out the tinted window to what was going on outside.

"You have shovel, yes?" She heard the allied soldier's smooth voice.

"We don't even have enough guns. Why would we have a spade?" Gilbert snarled.

"Ah, is okay! I have one can share. Come with me, we three go into woods now."

Gilbert stood rooted. As if by some silent communication, Ludwig didn't move either. Elizabeta didn't know how he could be so brave with the gun pressed against his head. "We are not going anywhere," the blond ground out, turning his head to look his captor viciously in his violet eyes.

"Is quite…. What is German word? Ah, _ironisch_ , yes? Is me leading SS into pits in the woods. I heard rumor that my home village was killed by Germans. Lead into woods, lined up on trench, and shot. Now I do same to Germans. Is good closure, yes? Ha-ha."

A shiver ran down Elizabeta's spine. Things were going south far faster than she could have anticipated. If only the Russian would face the other way she could jump out behind him. How would she do it? Did she aim high, below his chin and slide it across? Or lower, close to his collarbone? Just jab it in his kidney and run? Scary as the massive Russo was, he was made of flesh and blood just as she was. He was not invincible. She could see it: a red smile carved on the front of his scarved throat before he fell to the crimson ground. Gilbert would grab her softly and help her turn her head away, murmuring sweet comforts. It was not for racial or even political reasons of which she would kill, but merely because this soldier was a threat. He would kill the person who she loved. But the Soviet was still partially facing her window- she knew if she moved now he'd see her and shoot her instead as soon as he realized her intentions.

"We're not lambs to your slaughter. If you're going to kill us: you'll kill us right here, right now. Not die like a civilian." Gilbert all but howled, taking a step forward. His red eyes burned.

"Fine. Rot out here on road. Feast for the birds. Or maybe snows will come and they find you in spring."

Going south fast. She gripped the knife. She'd just have to hope she could get to him before he could shoot.

 _"I'm afraid that won't be necessary."_ It was Ludwig who spoke; picking that exact moment to break away. Surprised by the sudden movement from his previously compliant captive the Russian was thrown backwards. His hand slipped from its position binding the blonde's wrists together. A shot fired and missed. Like a well oiled machine Gilbert then lunged forward, knocking the Russian's pistol from his hand. He kicked it away and slung a knee into the Soviet's abdomen. Ludwig picked up where his brother left off by launching a black-gloved fist into the Russian's head. The Soviet was pushed onto the ground, but he had recovered with admirable swiftness from his shock and pulled Ludwig down to the pavement with him. Soon enough, the men were wrestling and rolling on the ground like dogs. The Russian seemed to have the upper hand over Ludwig's speed and technique with sheer brute size, but by the time Gilbert had thrown himself into the fray the playing field was re-leveled.

They just needed one more factor the tip the fight to their advantage.

"I'm going. Stay here."

"No Lizzie! Wait for me!"

She shoved the door open, hiding the dagger in her long loose striped jacket sleeve. She felt Feliks stumble out behind her, but it was probably more a fear of being left out if something had happened to his friend rather than an actual desire to fight. She alighted on the grass and sprinted up to the road, Feliks hard on her heels.

It was like one of those blurs in one of those western cartoons. Dust was kicked up and three pairs of fists were flying every-which way as the axis and allied soldiers tried to gain the upper hand over each other. Ludwig slammed a vicious kick into the Soviet's ribcage. It was Gilbert who noticed her first, pausing in mid-punch.

"Eliz-?"

At that moment, the Soviet slung a fist into Gilbert's cheek, before stopping himself to see what had paused his foe. Ludwig stopped too. She was about to slide the knife out from her sleeve when the Soviet stared at her head-to-toe in awe.

"You. You are Jew…?"

She stopped and re-hid the knife. Certainly he didn't recognize…

"I'm a political from Hungary, I was spreading anti-Nazi propaganda."

He jabbed a finger at Feliks, who stood at her right. "And him?"

"Polish in the wrong place at wrong time," Feliks answered.

Slowly, the Russian stood up. He eyed the two Germans warily, in unspoken armistice, who were sitting on the black pavement. Then back to the two ex-prisoners.

"You were at concentration camp." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Uh, yes." Elizabeta answered, hesitantly. "How did you know?"

"My regiment… we liberated very many when we entered Poland. I recognize the uniforms. You very thin and pale like them, too. Which are you from?"

"Auschwitz." The four answered simultaneously.

He bit his lip. "Ah... I have not heard of that one."

"Because the Red Army hasn't found it yet." Ludwig answered coldly, "But you could, in a month or so."

The Soviet turned back to Ludwig and Gilbert, his gaze hostile. "I demand to know what is going on. Now. Before I decide go back and use my bazooka, now that I am free. Lying would not be wise."

There was a quiet as the four decided who was to speak first. Eventually, Gilbert stepped forward.

"My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. My brother Ludwig and I are – _uh, were_ \- SS guards at the camp."

"My name is Elizabeta," the Hungarian clarified.

"And I'm Feliks!"

"And that idiot lying on the road over there is Borys. He's not actually an SS, just a Jew prisoner, but we dressed him up like the commandant to help us escape." Ludwig added.

The Soviet eyed them suspiciously. "I know the what, but not the why. Why escape? Why Nazi team up with prisoner?" He asked, his voice high-pitched.

Elizabeta stepped over to Gilbert. He stood up and wrapped an arm protectively around her, and fixed the Soviet with a challenging stare in answer. Ludwig and Feliks each took a step to stand on either side two lovers. Ludwig on Gilbert's right, Feliks on Elizabeta's left.

"I see…" The Russian trailed off. "Not sure if believe. But maybe I don't kill yet."

"Yeah? Maybe _we_ won't kill you right now either." It was Ludwig who spoke, his voice still openly hostile. "Now, we'll be getting on our way. Goodbye." He whirled a step towards the automobile.

"Nyet."

_What?_

"I did not say I was going to let you go." The Russian said. His violet gaze was cold, unreadable. And she wasn't sure how or when –probably when they were talking- but he somehow had his bazooka with him again. She quickly scanned the road surface and the nearby grass and didn't see either of Gilbert's, Ludwig's, or the Russian's pistols that had been knocked to the ground. She was suddenly nervous.

"These two still Nazis. They are lucky I have not put holes in their skulls yet. You will all be my prisoners until I get girl and Pole to one of our medics. Nazis to station to send to POW camp. Unless I get bored, maybe then I shoot German pigs for fun."

Ludwig suddenly took a step forward. "I'm not going to wait around patiently for you to send me to go rot in some hole in Siberia!"

"Me neither," Gilbert hissed. "My job, my friends, what I believed in, I abandoned everything I had when I left the Nazis. Who the hell is some Communist to decide where my allegiances lie?"

"I am afraid you do not have a choice in the matter, my friends." He smiled sweetly and leveled the bazooka at the two SS. It was not a precision weapon. It would kill all four of them at once with the concussion waves alone. Instinctively, Ludwig and Gilbert spread themselves apart.

"What about Borys?" Elizabeta asked.

"What about him?" Ludwig retorted. This earned him a guilty laugh from the Hungarian.

"Now, you four come with me, da?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. Elizabeta fiddled with the knife that she pressed against her wrist.

"Guys, like _, what is that?"_ Feliks gasped, breaking the tension before a second fight could break out. He pointed a finger at the top of the treeline on the horizon.

"What's what?" Gilbert asked.

Elizabeta thought that Feliks was just making a distraction, but she too noticed something on the horizon. White and ragged, billowing in the wind, perhaps suspended in the branches of some leafless tree.

"It's totally like, a ghost or something!"

Feliks squeaked, hiding behind Ludwig. The older soldier all but shoved the little Pole to the ground. "Get off," Ludwig growled. He raised a hand beyond the visor of his cap and squinted into the dusk light at the distant object he pointed at.

"I told you it's a ghost!" Feliks squealed, this time clinging to the Russian.

The Russo soldier sliced his arms out angrily from his side. "Enough." the Soviet ordered. "We go see it out, yes? Is no ghost, stop complaining. I have feeling know what it is…"

Elizabeta blinked. Silhouetted in the rising moonlight, the billowing white looked admittedly like some sort of apparition.

"Let us go now." The Soviet hefted his weapon onto his shoulder to assert his threat, and with his free hand gestured grandly for the four to head out in front of him. Gilbert and Ludwig moved out reluctantly before the unnamed threat. Feliks took this time to bolt away from the group and grab the bag of stuff they stole from the farmhouse from the car before returning. The Russian fixed him with a look, but resigned to ask him about it later. Elizabeta moved closer to Gilbert, as between the scary soviet breathing down her neck and wandering into a forest at night she was somewhat afraid on multiple fronts. The Prussian kept marching out into the forest in front of the Russian towards the strange object that waved on the horizon. She slipped his dagger from her sleeve and returned it to him wordlessly. He nodded once and slid it into his pocket. His face was set in a fierce frown and his red eyes burned angrily into whatever they met…. Eliza could see he didn't appear to be fond of the stony irony of his position as guard being reversed to that of the personal prisoner. Perhaps one could argue it was similar to his incarceration while waiting for his lynching, but then it seemed he still held his rank. His pride.

She marched along with Gilbert into the dark forest. Feliks was looking readily afraid, and since Gilbert and Elizabeta were taken; the Soviet scarier than the forest itself, the only person open to cling to was Ludwig. Who did not appear pleased to being exposed to the Pole's rapid string of theories and fears.

Ludwig placed a hand to his brow and moaned. He looked to the Russian for reprieve.

"Tell me Russian, I've been wondering why you are alone. Where is the rest of your squadron?"

"No questions," he answered evenly, not breaking stride. He looked up to the stars that shone in the twilight, searching for the white billowing from the branches of a nearby tree. He saw it and pointed with his free hand. "This way. Almost there."

Elizabeta kept walking, eventually coming to the trunk of a huge oak tree. The Russo pointed up into its limbs and nodded. "There."

Elizabeta followed the path of his index finger with her emerald gaze. Tangled and speared at great force in the branches was a tattered thick white cloth. Definitely not a ghost… she felt Feliks relax behind her. "What is it, exactly? Other than just a sheet?" she asked.

"Is what I thought. Is parachute. Or _was."_ Their Red-Army-Incarcerator replied.

From an airplane? Instinctively, she looked to the base of the tree. She thought she saw something there, something the same color white as the cloth fluttering in the tree branches. She broke away from Gilbert's grasp and bolted forward.

"Elizabeta, wait!" He raced after her. Ludwig, Feliks, and the Soviet followed swiftly. Brambles tugged at her clothing as she leapt forward into the cold winter night. The massive trunk of the oak tree grew in her field of vision. She halted about a meter and a half before the roots of the tree, panting. Nestled in the roots was a figure, shawled in the tatters of the white parachute that adorned the branches above him. Well, that wasn't entirely true…. In the bright full moonlight she noticed that the silken fabric wasn't just white, but stroked with a crimson red as well.

She heard Gilbert trot to a halt beside her. Ludwig arrived swiftly afterwards, followed by Feliks and the Soviet. They gapped at the figure sitting in the parachute before them. He was slumped, and blood dripped from a gash on his forehead. A shock of messy hair adorned his head, less pure of a blonde than that of Ludwig or Feliks. A handsomely chiseled chin and nose, with longer dark-blond lashes pressing his eyes closed. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket, which was also speckled with blood. His throat and shoulders were thick and muscled from years of manual labor. The number forty eight was messily sewn onto the back of his jacket –obviously embroidered by the clumsy hand of some drunken male squad mate. A sheepskin collar was folded around his throat. On his head he wore the round goggles and leather hat of a flightsman. Cradled in his arms was a rifle. He smiled and clutched it like a child would a stuffed bear, as if it was his only tool to salvation. Patched onto his shoulder in gold thread was a certain star-spangled banner…

"Mein Gott…. It's an _American_ …" Gilbert voiced, prodding the body with his boot.

The Russo leaned his bazooka on the ground and stepped closer, his brows raised curiously. "Was."

"Ewww, he's all like... Bloody and stuff. Do we _have_ to be near him? He's totally grossin' me out."

"Ludwig, I'll bet you one-hundred Reichsmarks the poor bastard's dead," Gilbert said, elbowing his brother. The Russian glared at him. "When we are released from Siberia in a decade." he added. He obviously didn't mean a word, but the Russian didn't seem to catch this.

"I'll take that bet. I smell a lot of fresh blood. Dead things don't bleed," Ludwig said, examining the body like one would a cut of meat. He brushed a shock of dirty-blonde hair out of the figure's sun-tanned face. It remained uncreased with the wrinkles of worry and time. It was such a young face, too young to die. Probably even younger than Feliks. Hardly eighteen.

The eyes flickered open at the touch.

They were a shining sapphire, with a slightly larger spectrum of green, blue, yellow, and gray flecks than Ludwig's icy granite eyes held. They were like how she imagined Gilbert's irises would be if they weren't red. The cobalt orbs were transparent with emotion, naive and as easily readable as a book. First she saw immense pain. Shock! Then, recognition, fear, and confusion. Finally, they lightened somewhat. He looked up to the five strangers surrounding him and asked something. She didn't understand it… it was in English.

He smiled sheepishly and muttered again, realizing they didn't understand him. He closed his azure eyes in thought for a moment, before replying in broken German:

"Howdy there, folks."


	26. Chapter 26

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"What kind of word is _'howdy'_ to greet your enemies with?" Ludwig spat.

"Enough! German, get back!" The Russian yanked Ludwig back by his collar from the American. The new soldier seemed completely unfazed, considering he was surrounded by unfamiliar Europeans, some of which bore the mark of the enemy on their lapels. She wondered briefly how he could speak German, she would have to ask later. To the American the Soviet said, "My young comrade, what is your name?"

The other locked eyes bravely with the intimidating Soviet, his chin up. A sort of foolish-looking bravery. "Flight Sergeant Alfred F. Jones."

"I Mladshiy serzhant Ivan Braginsky. Infantry. How you get here? Are there others?"

"There was a bad fog. I lost radio communication after completing my mission over Vienna and we started adriftin' in some strong wind…. Freaking Luftwaffe hit two engines on my B-17. I was forced to eject, dunno' what happened to my crew."

She heard Ludwig sneer victoriously from behind her at the word 'Luftwaffe'. Gilbert joined in a snicker. The young American flashed his teeth in a ferocious snarl at the two SS, who laughed openly at his misery.

"Silence! Have some respect, krautfaces!" The Russo -who to the ally had revealed himself as named Ivan- roared. "Now, condition?"

"Fine 'nuff."

"You understand you are covered in blood, da? Should be _inside_ of you."

"American, go back to your own war with the Japs. At least the British _belong_ on this half of the world." Gilbert leered, "Why can't you mind your own damn business and stay out of Europe? You wouldn't be in this situation."

"Gilbert, don't call them Japs, that is disrespectful." Ludwig said coolly. But the blond made no objection to mocking the American.

The American seemed suddenly full of rage, his attention quickly turned to this new subject. "Don't even get me started on the Japs man, those freaks," the soldier –Alfred- breathed, "I've seen what they've done to good Americans. Sly, cowardly little dogs they are attacking like that! I'll tear apart those traitorous little kamikazes like stupid ricepaper. Bomb Pearl Harbor the day they send peace emissaries, will they? If I ever get my hands on one of those I'll wring his sorry neck. You krautfaces are nasty, but the Japs better be praying to Buddha that I'm ov-"

The Russian stood between the three arguing men, just his presence alone seeming to have a subduing effect. "I understand you hate Jap, comrade, no need say more. Everyone quiet now, please."

"Yes, _Mom."_ Feliks giggled from behind her. The Russian fixed him in a stare and the blonde ducked behind Elizabeta.

"Yes, now, Quiet. First order of business: we make camp. We stay here tonight, too dark now move. Anyone have fire?"

Gilbert fished his lighter out of his pocket and nodded once at the Russo in answer.

"Good! Red-eyes, start fire. Blondes, come with me. You will get firewood." The Soviet soldier ordered. He adjusted the RPG-7 on his shoulder, silently reinforcing his threat.

"I wouldn't mind it if he like, bothered to learn our names," Feliks muttered. Ludwig narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He appeared to understand why the Russian was reluctant to learn them. He seemed aware of the high chance that the Russo could just get fed up and kill the two Germans anyway, despite their tales of helping prisoners. It was difficult to kill something once you knew its name.

_It's probably why the Nazis gave Feliks and I numbers instead._

Gilbert started ripping out grass and collected it in a firenest about two meters in front of the American. Ludwig and Feliks filed out in front of the Russian.

"How are you gonna help us pick up logs with that big gun on your shoulder, Mister-Russian-Man?" Feliks inquired, stopping. The Russian prodded his backside with the bazooka like a cattle who had stopped walking.

" _I_ not picking wood, I watch you. _You_ pick wood. You do something wrong, I splatter brains against tree."

"Oh, cool."

Elizabeta drilled the heel of her shoe nervously into the soft detritus of the forest floor. "What about me?" she questioned.

"Ah, yes! I have very important job for girl." He actually leaned his bazooka on the ground and slid off the small backpack from his broad back. He reached in and fished around, pulling something small and white out, then slung it back over his shoulders. He subsequently slipped a gloved hand inside his trenchcoat and pulled something metallic and shiny out. Ivan bent down to her level and firmly placed the two objects into her hand.

"You heal American."

It was 1944! Women were going to college for crying out loud! Just because she was female didn't make her anybody's maid! She wasn't trained to heal things. The soldiers probably had better experience at dressing wounds than she did!

"You understand me, yes? Heal him."

"Uh, yessir. I'll do my best." Her voice raised slightly with irritation at the end, as if it were a question.

He smiled sweetly and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Good!"

He turned back to the American leaning against the tree. "Sergeant Jones, if red-eyes and girl try to kill you or escape, you shoot them, yes? If can't shoot them, scream loud. I shoot blondes, then I come back here and finish job. Okie?"

"Yessir, captain Commie!" the American shouted with a smirk, performing a mock salute from his sitting position. She shivered. The Russian chuckled at the American, although she would bet if Ludwig or Gilbert had said that same line to his face they'd be missing a body-part of some sort.

"Yes, we three go now. Be back in twenty minutes with more wood." The Russian ushered Ludwig and Feliks out before him.

"Bye," Elizabeta gulped. Ludwig marched stonily forward into the darkness in front of the Soviet. He carried himself with a quiet, cold pride before his captor. As a soldier he understood his position in the hierarchy, but he was doing the bare minimum when it came to being submissive. Feliks looked back at her nervously, before flashing her a goofy smile and a thumbs-up. She turned back to Gilbert. He lurched towards her once they were alone.

"What do you say we have ourselves a little fun with the American, _hmm?"_ he purred, an evil smile gracing his features. He patted the pocket that held his dagger twice. Light danced playfully in his red eyes.

_"Gilbert,"_ she taunted, a knowing look in her eyes. "You know Mr. Crazy Russian wouldn't appreciate you torturing him for amusement. Plus, he'd scream."

"That is why we cut his tongue out first, no?"

"Is that what passes for fun in your country?"

"Fine, fine. I was only joking." He waved her off. She heard a shuffling behind her as the American shifted to get a better look at the spectacle.

"Ah sure could use a might of fillin in, folks."

Gilbert crossed his arms and stared contemptuously over at the seated American. "Fill you in about what, cowboy?"

"Like why the hell a Nazi is kissing a skinny girl in her pajamas! And why you're both hangin round with a Russian!"

Elizabeta gaped at her description. "H-he… he doesn't know…."

Gilbert sighed. "I guess it makes sense. Most of the camps are in the far East so the German civilians don't see them. I'd be willing to bet that the American Air-Force soldiers know the least about it out of everyone, since they're up in the skies of the west. I'm sure their superiors know though, shame they haven't been told anything."

"Don't know bout what?" the blond asked.

"We'll explain it in full later," Elizabeta said. "Right now I'll see if I can help you. My name's Elizabeta, and this is-"

Gilbert looked at her and shook his head slowly. Elizabeta cut off her sentence, understanding. "I'm going back to build the fire. Eliza, call me back when you're done with him and we can talk." he said.

"Right." She confirmed. It was about time she got started with this anyway. She looked at the two small objects the Russian had handed to her. The first was small and white. A spool of gauze for wrapping wounds. She unraveled the end slightly. _That will be useful._

She then examined the second object, this one heavier than the first. It was a flat, square-shaped metal flask. It was curved slightly though, as if built to fit in the concave of someone's boot or coat. A red star with a gold hammer and sickle was in its center, circled by golden laurel wreaths. The silvery metal was engraved with designs and runelike Russian characters, but displayed nowhere near the caliber of craftsmanship of Gilbert's lighter. She swirled the top off and brought it to her nose. The acrid scent was unmistakable.

Vodka. Of course. From the Russian. She should have expected it.

She looked over to the American. "How long have you been lying there?" she asked.

"Bout six hours or so?" He seemed rather unconfident of his answer. He was probably unconscious for most of it. Either way: plenty of time for the seeds of infection to set in. Wordlessly, she walked off a short way from the clearing and brought back a small twig, about as thick as a finger and as long as her hand. She carefully peeled the bark off and sprinkled some of the alcohol over her hands. She kneeled right before the American, on his left.

"Can you tell me where you're hit the worst?" she asked earnestly, her voice soft as she looked him in the eyes. She was impressed by how the young soldier managed to hide the pain from their depths.

He picked up his M1 rifle and laid it gingerly on the ground, as if it was a part of him. He pulled off his leather bomber jacket and displayed the underside of his right arm. Viscous red blood oozed out from a thick, cleanly cut wound. Likely lacerated by a hot shard of metal from his aircraft. But there appeared to be no major torso injuries. She wasn't sure if she should be happy or not. With only an external wound, as soon as he recovered from his blood loss he'd be functioning again. He'd be another pair of eyes hindering their escape from the Russian.

Could she kill him? And make it look like he died from his wounds? She looked over to Gilbert, who was still toiling a few meters away with the start to a fire. Back on the road, she found herself willing to kill the Russian if someone else's life was on the line, but she found herself reluctant to kill this young allied soldier before he had wronged her. Certainly if Ivan found out –who knew how smart or dumb he actually was, behind that kiddish smile of his- she could kiss their chances at life goodbye. She wished it was Gilbert in her place, dressing him. He had been hardened in the fires of war: he would know how to do what was best.

She picked up the stick and leaned closer to him. "Your name is Alfred, right? Can I call you that? Or would you prefer Sergeant Jones?"

He blinked. "Yes'm, I s'pose Alfred is okay Miss, if you're not an enemy…. Your name is Elizabeth, right?"

"Elizabeta. Or 'Veta. I realize in English you actually have very different sounds for 'b's and 'v's."

"Yeah, sorry. That's a similar name from my country."

"I want you to bite down on this, okay Alfred? It's going to hurt a lot." She handed him the stick, "Please don't scream," she added.

He carefully placed the twig between his teeth and held out his solid arm. Muscles lay thick over the bones, he must have worked on a farm or something. She noticed above the muscles was a bit of fat. A bit chubby, this Alfred was. Or maybe that was just in comparison to her. Elizabeta realized she probably looked pretty scrawny next to him.

"Uh, Gi-," She cut herself off before she could finish the name. She was sure the American would figure it out as soon as Ludwig came back and called his brother by his name, but she didn't want Gilbert to be disappointed in her for telling him. Soldiers had their pride to look after, after all. They wouldn't want anything held back. "Can you come over here; I need your help for a moment."

He looked up from his work, but seemed pleased to be of use. Swiftly, he lit the tinder. It was small so the flame would probably be able to sustain itself until Ludwig Feliks and Ivan got back with more wood. "Yes Eliza?" The Prussian padded over, scrutinizing the young man who sat against the tree trunk. Blue ice clashed with red flames challengingly as the eyes met. She felt the air crackle with every step the two enemies gained in proximity.

"I want you to hold him down. Move him off the tree and lay him on the ground," she ordered.

Gilbert less-than-gently pulled the larger American to the ground. Alfred narrowed his eyes, muttering something about how he was perfectly capable of moving himself. He probably was, given how the wound was only on the underside of his arm, but she wouldn't take any chances. Especially if the Russian decided someone's fate based on whether the American pulled through or not.

Elizabeta unscrewed the cap from the flask. She readied it over the wound.

"Hold his chest down. Alfred, are you ready?"

Gilbert braced himself over the young man's shoulders. He looked back to Elizabeta and nodded once.

"I'm ready." Alfred declared around the stick in his jaws, his voice high and clear.

Elizabeta took a breath and started pouring the alcohol over the wound to cleanse it. The blood ran in dilute oranged rivers from the glistening gash and soaked the thirsty, dry ground. The American's pupils contracted to pinpricks in a sea of blue, his brows rising considerably. He bucked suddenly, violently, like a bronco from the plains of the man's homeland. Gilbert cursed and pushed down on the American's shoulders to keep his arm still. The pilot thrashed vehemently, but to his credit uttered not a word of grievance around the stick.

Slowly, Elizabeta tipped the flask of vodka vertical. Gilbert restrained the man to the ground for a few moments more, protecting Elizabeta until she was a safe distance away. He carefully pulled his palms off of the other man's chest, and Alfred released a long, slow breath.

"Thanks for that, Jerry." Alfred breathed. With his unhurt arm he removed the stick from his teeth.

"My name's not _'Jerry,'_ idiot." Gilbert growled.

"It's American slang for a German soldier. Unless you'd prefer me to keep calling you and that other Nazi _'kraut one'_ and _'kraut two'_. Doctor Seuss style, y'know im?"

"No. I don't."

"Oh. Well, you should! Dr. Seuss's grandparents are German immigrants. Although t'day he mostly draws these anti-Nazi political cartoons which are really funny."

Gilbert grunted in response, quite obviously not caring about for whatever passed as pop culture in America, and went back to stand by Elizabeta. She was unraveling a long strip of gauze and wrapped it around Alfred's lacerated underarm. It was quickly soaked, and she saw the American wince as the fiery alcohol on his wound was ground back into his nerves, but she quickly pulled the two ends of gauze together.

"Stitches would be preferable, but I don't think we have the resources for that now. You'll have a nasty scar, but if it's not infected in a few days it shouldn't be life-threatening. We just need to get you some water and food to replace all the blood you've lost."

"Don't help 'em too much, Liz." Gilbert said offhandedly.

Normally she would agree, but it didn't look like the American would be shooting any semi-automatics with that arm any day soon. They'd probably escape by then. But the boy _was_ stronger than he looked…. A feeling of doubt crept into her chest.

"Thanks Elizabeta. Means a lot."

"It's nothing," she replied.

There was a pause as the American pushed himself back to lean on the tree trunk. He wrapped the leather jacket around his shoulders like a blanket, rather than actually putting it on.

"Can I ask what's goin on now?" Alfred voiced.

Gilbert and Elizabeta looked at each other. "You want to do the honors?" she prompted.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure if the American bastard deserves to know anything, but if you want."

Alfred looked at the Prussian expectantly. "Yes please?"

"Alright you fat little American fuck, we'll humor you. I was an SS guard at a concentration-extermination camp. The biggest one in all of Europe, called Auschwitz. They are these huge facilities where Nazis deport the Jews to, along with anyone else they don't like. Like Slavs, gays, gypsies, and Russian POWS," Gilbert gestured with his chin in the direction that the Soviet disappeared to. "That's why _he_ especially doesn't like us. I met Elizabeta there. She was a prisoner. She's not actually Jewish, she's with the Hungarian antifa."

"Why do they only put captured Russian soldiers in these camps with the Jews, and not American or British or Canadian ones?" the American questioned. She didn't expect this to be the first question to come out of his mouth.

Gilbert shrugged. "If you asked my brother, he'd say they're there because they're inferior."

The American's lips were pressed into a line as he digested this.

"Anyway," the Prussian continued, "I say extermination _and_ concentration camp for a reason. There is a difference. In an extermination camp, people are lead off of trucks and immediately lead into fake showers and gassed and killed. In a concentration camp, the stronger prisoners are selected out and worked to death. Auschwitz had different parts, so it's technically both. The conditions in the camp are worse than you can imagine. There are four crematoria running nonstop, just to burn all of the bodies. Well actually, back in '43 a bunch of girls blew crematorium III up with explosives and they never got around to fixing it, so there's only three now…"

The American shifted apprehensively against the tree, but Gilbert showed no signs in stopping the story halfway through. He had no sympathy for the American.

"The exact details of the camps aren't important. Hell, I'll bet you'll hear all about them by the end of the war. But the main thing is that I fell for Elizabeta there."

"Ha. I didn't think Nazis could love." Alfred snickered.

Elizabeta laughed, but it appeared as if Gilbert had to restrain himself from slapping the American across the face.

"She was almost killed in the gas chambers, but due to a fluke she survived underneath the other bodies. I changed the records to make it look like she died. We escaped. We failed. Before we were executed we my brother actually succeeded in breaking us out –and I'll admit right now his plan was brilliant- but unfortunately,"

He swept his arms around him,

"We ran into a certain Russian and an American and this happened."

The American was quiet for moment as he absorbed this, his brown brows low over his blue eyes. He held a finger to his chin, chuckled, and shook his head with a smile. At first Elizabeta was afraid he didn't believe them.

"You wanna' know what I realized the whole time you was speaking?" the American asked.

"What?" Gilbert grunted.

Alfred Jones looked at the Prussian knowingly, with a sly smile and a glint in his blue eyes beyond his years. "I noticed throughout your whole speech, not once did you refer to the Nazis as 'we.' You always called 'em 'they.'"

"So what?"

"I'm saying that maybe you don't align yerself with them anymore."

Gilbert glared at Alfred viciously, not offering a response. She and Gilbert knew that what the American said was true of course, to some extent, but for whatever prideful reason Gilbert was reluctant to admit his treachery to the enemy. Carefully, Gilbert shifted Elizabeta off and stood over the American.

"Yeah? What does that make me, a fucking saint now?" His voice lowered a dangerous octave. "Let me tell you something, _Ami_ , what did you say you were: a flight sergeant of a B-17? A pilot? You go around bombing and killing my innocent civilian people from the safety of your little flying fortress. You're no _hero_. If that Russian wasn't here, I would personally tear your liver out right now with an honest-to-God smile on my face. Don't be getting friendly. I've killed dozens of your allies without a thought; I certainly don't deserve your pity."

The boy was sitting down, his red life soaking the ground around him, yet he still met the Prussian's challenging words with that same cocky smile.

* * *

**A/N:**

Americans really didn't like the Japanese at this time. Much worse than their dislike of the Germans.

I'll be translating military slang that Mr. America uses for the next few chapters. Right now we've got:

**_Jerry:_ ** _American/British slang for a German soldier._

**_Kraut:_ ** _Derogatory term for a German. From 'Sauerkraut'_

**_Ami:_ ** _German slang for an American soldier._


	27. Chapter 27

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Before another fight could break out and they would end up killing each other, Elizabeta changed the subject.

"Alfred," –she noticed Gilbert stare at her with a raised eyebrow upon choosing to use his first name- "How do you speak German fluently?"

The boy blinked. He didn't seem to notice her obvious tactic. "Oh. I had a friend growing up on the farm who was the son of a German immigrant. He taught me pretty well. I used to live in New York City until I was about twelve or so, but then my mom died and I ditched school with my dad to move out west. I'll tell ya, I got the best of both worlds. I could run it with the Italian gangs in the City and Jersey, but when it came to real stuff out on the farm it taught me to work hard."

"I grew up on a farm. One of our parents died when I was young too." Gilbert whispered. But he suddenly seemed surprised, as if he hadn't meant to say that aloud to the American.

"Our?" Alfred asked.

"Me and the blond guy. He's my younger brother."

"Oh…I got a brother too. A twin."

There was a quiet. Both soldiers seemed to sense it best to stop before they discovered any more similarities between each other. A silence fell. The American busied himself with cleaning his rifle, leaning on his backpack in the firelight. Gilbert sat down again in the grass next to Elizabeta. A devious smile curled around his lips.

"Liz, you don't happen to have any of Ruski's vodka left, do you?"

She fiddled with the flask she had left on the grass behind her. She swirled it in her wrist to find some was indeed left.

"What if I do?"

"Give it here."

"Gilly, what would Ludwig say?" Elizabeta's voice was teasing, but she was already unscrewing the top.

"He'd say, 'give me half.'"

Elizabeta snickered and passed her silver-haired lover the Russian's half-empty flask. "Anyone asks, we used it all on the American. Try not to look drunk in front of the Red."

"Me? Drunk? Never!"

They both started laughing, Elizabeta was just happy that there wasn't enough alcohol left for Gilbert to get drunk on. They had been through a lot lately. Gilbert deserved to have a little fun if he wanted, even if the Soviet would be mad if he found out. He slung an arm around her. She saw Alfred glance up at them curiously. He seemed kind of lonely, such a talkative man sitting over there by himself. Gilbert touched her on the shoulder, his ruby eyes looking into hers

"Hey, d'ja want any?"

"No, it's not really my thing."

He took a swig and smiled. "Not as good as German beer anyway."

Elizabeta nodded absentmindedly, not particularly an expert on alcohol. She looked over to Alfred, who was still absorbed in cleaning his rifle. She started to stand up.

"I'm going to go talk to the boy. Make sure he's alright."

Gilbert touched her shoulder softly and motioned for her to come back to the ground. She stared at the Prussian curiously, wondering why he had stopped her. She squatted back on the grass.

"Listen, Eliza, I know you want to be nice, but I don't think that's a good idea."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why not?" She didn't see a reason for the American to want to hurt her, and if he did she was sure Gilbert would be able to stop him.

"It's not him hurting you that I'm particularly worried about. I don't trust him of course, but I don't think he sees you as a threat. I'm worried about you getting too close to him."

_Too close?_

"I heard you call him by his name. I just want you to know that for us four to get away, something might have to happen to him…. That's all."

Gilbert left it darkly at that. Elizabeta was quiet.

"I'm not going to stop you from talking to him, but just be careful, alright?" He placed a comforting arm around her. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

"I'll be careful, I just wanted to make sure he's okay."

Gilbert nodded once. He went back to poking the fire with a stick, taking a long drag from the flask. "I trust you, Eliza. Go make sure the little Ami isn't in danger of bleeding to death again."

She nodded and disappeared towards the edge of the ring of light formed by the tiny campfire, the spool of gauze in her left hand. She approached Alfred, who appeared to be fiddling with a food of some sort. _Typical American._ He looked up at her and grinned.

"Howdy Elizabeta!" he chirped. He was almost a little like Feliks in that matter. That goofy kiddishness. Only this man seemed much more threatening beneath his veneer of naivety. Not to mention he was roughly Ludwig's size and build, if not a little huskier. He put something in his mouth and chewed loudly. "S'up?"

"I just wanted to make sure your wound wasn't bleeding too much."

"Oh. Yup! S'all fine." The American thumped his chest with his fist. "I'm a strong one if I've ever seen one." He flipped his arm over as proof, the bandage only slightly reddened.

She smiled. He looked like a strong kid, he was probably too proud to let himself be killed by anything but an enemy soldier face to face. Not by his wounds, surely. She only hoped it wouldn't come to that. At least not while she was around to know about it, anyway.

With a crack, he broke off one the little brown squares. A delectable smell flooded the cool night air.

"Want some? I owe ya for helpin' me before, after all."

"Is that..?"

"It's chocolate, _duh."_

Chocolate. She didn't think she'd even _seen_ any chocolate since Hungary had entered the war. "Yes," Elizabeta said quickly. Without a further word the American handed her a row of the candy. Some funny English word was written on each little square, _'Hershey's'_ or something. With a flick of her long fingers, she chipped one of the sections off and turned it around in her hand. It melted into a creamy sweet mud on the tips of her fingerpads. She raised it to her lips.

"NYET!"

She stopped. Suddenly, Ivan had materialized like a ghost behind her. He smashed her hand away from her face. He flung the candy away as if it was poisonous.

"Yankee, do you know what you almost did?!"

"Wrut?" The American mumbled around a mouthful.

"Girl be dead as dog in one hour if she swallowed."

"Dead?! Why would she be dead!" Alfred exclaimed.

Elizabeta started panicking. What was going on? Did someone poison the food? When did the Russian get back? Were Feliks and Ludwig back too? Upon noticing the commotion Gilbert was suddenly beside her, poised like a lethal weapon at her side as he snarled at the American. "What did the dirty Kaugummisoldat try to do to her!? I'll rip his heart out!"

"He try feed her chocolate. I seen it happen very many times…"

 _"What?"_ The American yelled, angry at being accused for his generosity. "Seen _what_ happen?!"

The Russian closed his eyes, as if annoyed at the American not figuring out what he found obvious. "When we first saw how thin prisoners were when we found camps, we thought it logical feed them, yes? We gave them very much food. Even candy if we had…. We could not deny them. But they so starved, system not used to it. Anyone who ate food too rich died instantly. All wanted to do was sleep. Did not wake up."

A silence filled the moonlit clearing. Elizabeta suddenly felt hot with nervousness, anger, and embarrassment. Would she really have been killed that easily?

Alfred looked up at her earnestly and frowned. "Gee…. I'm really sorry Elizabeta. I really had no idea."

 _"Right,_ dumbass! You couldn't figure that out for yourself? You could have killed her!" Gilbert was fuming at Alfred now. He seemed just barely able to restrain himself from attacking the American outright while in the presence of Ivan. Ludwig appeared silently from the shadows behind him and placed a calming hand on his older brother's shoulders.

"Guys, like, please don't fight. I don't think Alfie meant anything bad by it. It was just a mistake," Feliks said, before carelessly dropping the pile of sticks in his skinny arms atop the start to Gilbert's campfire. She noticed that the allies were referred to on a first name basis between her and Feliks, he had gone as far as to assign the American a nickname, but Ludwig and Gilbert still played their little games and called them by their nationality, as if pretending they didn't even have names.

"Clearly, what the American almost did was not intentional," Ludwig declared to all those listening, his bass tone ringing with finality. Everyone except Gilbert –herself included- seemed satisfied with this. Of course the chocolate was just an accident… Right? She saw Ludwig then lean down and whisper something darkly into Gilbert's ear, his blue bird-of-prey eyes veiled in the shadow of his cap and coldly calculating. The taught lines of Gil's snarl slowly evaporated from his face. Whatever it was that the blond said, it made Gilbert relax. But some instinct blooming inside of her sent a chilled talon of nervousness curling around her beating heart.

Ludwig then dropped a few of the logs that lay across his forearms on the fire, placing the four largest around the bonfire in a square formation like seats. She noticed Alfred slowly get up from the tree, nod at Ludwig once, and sit on one of them. Feliks grabbed her shoulder before she could go sit with Gilbert and pulled her down on one of the wooden logs.

"Lizzie, I need your help. Do you know any good campfire songs we could sing? I have a totally amazing singing voice, and I'm positive you do t-"

She felt the temperature drop about twenty degrees. Suddenly, Ivan was right next to her, staring at Feliks. Felik's mouth hung open for a moment, before closing itself.

"Like, what do _you_ want?" Feliks ground out, upset at his train of thought being interrupted.

The Russian smiled sweetly, looking down at the young Pole. "I did not ask this earlier. What is in bag?"

Feliks suddenly took a step backwards, a hand clutching the leather strap of the bag he had taken from the car.

"O-Oh, it's nothing. Just some raw potatoes and stuff."

"You give it to me now, da?"

Without waiting for an offering, in a movement so quick she found it surprising from such a large man, the Russian snatched the bag from Felik's shoulder. He opened it up and peered inside. He fished around, his brows rising slightly in contentment. He slung his own bag from his shoulders and placed in on the ground. The soviet pulled a fist out from the potatoes, the tangle of stolen silver jewelry wrapped between his fingers.

"I be taking these and food. Thank you!"

She stood up, fixing the Russian with her green stare as fiercely as she dared. He met it evenly. His smile vanished.

"You can't just take our stuff!" the Hungarian hissed, taking an unintentional step forward. She saw Ludwig and Gilbert look up from their seated positions around the campfire. Alfred looked up too.

"It's our stuff. I'm not your enemy, you can't just take it," she explained. The Russian raised his chin, glowering down at the girl. She felt a shiver trace its icy fingers up her spine, but she ignored the overpowering instinct to run from the Red Soldier.

"I in power here. I only letting your comrades live because they went against their policies to help you. A civilian. As far as I concerned, you would do well to stay in my good graces. Especially considering come morning I taking you back to regiment for medical help. There is food for you there."

"You left out how you're throwing Gilbert and Ludwig on a train to some prisoner of war camp in Siberia. We don't want to go with you. I'm happy here. With them." She jerked her head towards the two young men in Nazi dress at the campfire.

"You not have choice in matter whether you come."

"As I am aware. But I _can_ fight you over _this."_

Ivan took a step forward. "Consider it payment for saving your life. Is _very_ fair price, I think. Unless you would like me to raise it. _"_

He fixed her with a stare colder than a winter of the man's homeland, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air. She tore herself away from the eyes and looked at the black silhouetted form the orange light of the fire to her left. Gilbert was staring at her, ruby orbs shining out like those of an animal from the darkness. He gave a slow, measured, barely perceptible shake of his head. The meager bag of supplies was not worth someone's life.

"Fine. Take what you want."

"I thought so."

The Soviet leafed through their only bag of supplies, leaving the other four to sit around the campfire in various stages of broken conversation. Elizabeta watched the red army soldier pull the food out from the bag and place it in his own. He carefully uncoiled the chains of stolen jewelry from his gloved fingers and placed them in his own pack. He tossed the brown leather bag on the floor. To her surprise, it landed with a clang.

"Keep what is left. I not want."

He disappeared to retrieve his flask and sit by the fire. She noticed that Gilbert had wisely left the flask in the grass, absolving him of any accusation. Elizabeta picked the pack back up. She opened it, surprised that the soldier would bother to not strip them dry; although she knew his reasons were not generous. Inside the musty bag were a few cards of paper. Polish ration cards, it looked like. Also a folded map of some sort. And a silver candle holder that looked like it had been snatched right from some affluent family's dinner table. All of the paper was virtually useless. And the silver was too big and heavy for a soldier to bother carrying around until he had a chance to barter it.

She looped it over her shoulder and went to go sit next to Gilbert by the campfire. Alfred was leaning his back against one of the logs and was scooping meat with the lid from a can of spam, rather than sitting directly on it. His M1 lay propped up on the log next to him. Feliks was chatting with him about some stupid American cartoons or something. Ivan Braginski sat on the adjacent log and was eating. She wasn't sure if it was his own rations or some of the food he had taken from her. Ludwig sat in fearsome silence. She wondered why he didn't speak with his brother.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert had been silently watching the events of the last few minutes from the log he sat on. He felt Elizabeta alight on it next to him. The flames emitted a soft orange glow, their red light fanning against the trees of the clearing. Every minute it remained lit he knew it was a beacon for the Russian's comrades to find, but he felt he was still reasonably far out in the middle of nowhere. Judging by how the dirt road had only recently transmitted to pavement and was still one-laned they were likely away from any towns an army would be targeting. Burning mold filled the air with its smoky sweet scent. Gilbert liked it. It was calming, in a simple way. It reminded him of his childhood, but being an adult had more perks. He wrapped his arm around Elizabeta's waist. She looked up at him.

"Gilbert, what happened between you and Ludwig?"

He knew this would come eventually.

"We got in… a little fight when we were out foraging. Our ideologies have split pretty far in the past few days. Our allegiances are both to Germany, but we seem to go about it in different ways. He believes Nazism is the best path." he said.

"A fight?"

"When we were at the farmhouse we went around looking for meat. Naturally, after we had finished looting the house we went into the barn, but we didn't find what we were expecting in there." he said.

She fixed him with that vivisecting stare of hers, her green eyes blazing with intelligent curiosity. She raised an eyebrow, silently asking for clarification.

"When we went into the barn, we found a Jewish family hiding in there. Ludwig tried to kill them. A girl smiled at me. She didn't know what a monster I was and she didn't care either. I couldn't let Ludwig kill those people. So I stepped in."

Gilbert was annoyed to find the American listening in. He stared at him until he looked away. Then he focused his attention back on Elizabeta.

"Ludwig had offered me the chance to redeem myself, of course. He told me he'd forgive me and everything would be back to normal if I shot the family myself. I'm a soldier not a saint, I've shot civilians before, but I couldn't bring myself to this time. There was no reason to. Not since I met you."

The Hungarian looked at him for a while. Her green eyes were opaque, he couldn't read them. He was suddenly nervous.

"I'm so proud of you Gilbert."

And the Prussian soldier and the ex-prisoner kissed full on the lips. He slid a hand into her hair and held her close. The girl wrapped her arms around him, her legs curling up onto his lap.

The Soviet gasped.

The American dropped his food.

The other German looked boredly away.

The Pole crossed his legs and kept talking to the non-listening American.

Gilbert and Elizabeta broke from their kiss, ignoring how the Soviet and American seemed awed by the two enemies publicly expressing such a love for each other. Also how the Pole and the German seemed to acknowledge it as if it were a completely commonplace occurrence.

"I'm hungry," Feliks moaned. Gilbert fixed him with a stare.

"Deal with it. We're all hungry."

By this: Gilbert excluded the two allied soldiers, who were busy eating. The Soviet ignored this, but the American looked up.

"Hungry? No one should be hungry on Christmas Eve."

Christmas? It was Christmas Eve already? He hadn't been keeping track of the days very well. Which wasn't surprising, considering the last two weeks he had spent either in the woods or in prison.

"Is Christmas?" The Soviet asked, mirroring his thoughts.

"Of course it's Christmas!" The blonde glanced at his watch on his wrist and grinned. "21:00. Three hours an' it's Christmas!"

"In Europe, we celebrate it on the 24th," Elizabeta clarified.

The red army soldier shrugged nonchalantly. "We not celebrate Christmas in Russia. Not now."

The American raised an eyebrow.

Gilbert laughed. "That's because you crazy communists think Stalin _is_ God."

The Russian jabbed a thick finger at Gilbert and Ludwig. "You think Hitler is God, no?"

 _"I do not!"_ Gilbert hissed.

Ludwig looked up and shrugged. "If God existed, he wouldn't let the Aryans be pushed out of Stalingrad. But for a human Hitler serves close enough. I'll celebrate Christmas, though."

"And back to my point: No one –even crazy Germans- should be hungry on Christmas Eve," the Pilot stated.

The soviet narrowed his eyes. "You not give food to Germans. See how they like not eating."

Gilbert saw the American stand up. "What about Elizabeta and Feliks? They're innocent!" he challenged, slashing his good arm out at his side. For two allies, Gilbert noticed that the American and the Soviet seemed to have vastly different mindsets. If they weren't united against Germany he doubted they'd be even talking to each other. The Russian narrowed his eyes at the younger man.

"Do what want with your rations. If give Pole or Girl anything too rich they get sick. But do not give any to war prisoners."

"Whatever, commie." The American said, waving him off. No matter. Gilbert wouldn't have accepted any food from the American anyway. It was foolish to indebt oneself to the enemy. The pilot reached down to his backpack and pulled two little packages of American rations out. He tossed one to Feliks. Then the pilot started walking towards where Gilbert and Elizabeta sat. Gilbert tried hard to resist glaring at the American soldier as he approached. Elizabeta needed to eat; he could disguise his grudge for a few moments.

"S'least I could do after last time," the American said, flashing a guilty smile. He placed something in her hand. Gilbert was somewhat disappointed to find it only seemed to be a larger pack of round crackers, but he doubted Elizabeta would get sick on something with such little nutritional value. The American didn't appear to be the brightest crayon in the box, but he foresaw that, at least.

The Russian glared at Elizabeta with fierce, purplish eyes. "Do not give any to red-eyes." He ordered. Gilbert didn't interfere. Elizabeta slowly broke a piece of the first cracker and placed it in her mouth.

"So, again. You guys like, know any good campfire songs?"

"Feliks, if you start singing I swear on the Reich I will kill something." Ludwig threatened.

The Pole held his hands up. "Fine, fine. _You_ can sing instead then."

The American inhaled deeply, " _'Ooh say can you seeee, by the dawn's earllyyyyyy light, what so proooudly we haaaail, at the twiiiilight's last gleeeeam-'"_

"Shut up!" Gilbert hissed. The American's voice was so strident it made his head hurt.

"American is annoying as hell. But you not tell him to shut up, _fritzi."_ The Russian said evenly, looking over at the older brother.

"Did you just call me _Fritz?!_ That's _King Frederick the Great_ to you, Slav!

"What his problem?" the Soviet questioned.

"He was born in a part of Germany in 1918 when it was still Prussia. He sees himself as Prussian by nationality," Ludwig clarified.

"Prussia? At least mother Russia still around. Not abolished twenty-five years ago in WWI."

"Of course Prussia is important! Hitler's _Wolf's Lair_ is in East Prussia! He spent three years there! That's where he commanded the whole eastern invasion."

"Da. Before he ran for his life from there in November when certain Red Army got too close."

"We've kicked Russia's ass plenty of times. But America wouldn't even be a country if it wasn't for Prussia." Gilbert said, thrusting his chin up in faux indignation, and smirking slightly in anticipation of the reaction he knew it would coax from the American.

"What?!" the pilot shrilled, predictably.

"You'd still be England's little pet. Prussian General Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben whipped the whole American army into shape in your revolutionary war with some good old fashioned German discipline. He taught them all how to fight. You would have been slaughtered without him." Gilbert informed cooly. He didn't give a damn about school when he was in it, but he made sure he knew everything there was to know about Prussia. Von Steuben had even been a subject of Gilbert's most favorite king.

Gilbert expected the American to shoot back with some form of insult, but he curiously said something completely different. "Whoa! That's totally cool!"

Gilbert smirked. "' _Awesome'_ is a far more preferable word."

"Prussia is not -how Red-Eyes say- 'Awesome.' Care so much about military conquest, but was never even a fraction size of Russia."

"Oh da. I from mozher Russ-i-ya. Communysm is gewd, da?" The American butted in, imitating the Soviet's accent. Gilbert almost laughed with him.

Gilbert nudged Elizabeta with his elbow. This was going to be an awesome train wreck to watch. So long as no one killed each other. Well, it _would_ be really awesome if the American and Russian killed each other and they could ditch this place. But even if they didn't like each other, he knew the two Allies still hated him and Ludwig above that. This was just politics talk between a bunch of young soldiers.

"Communism? Capitalism is stupid. Why make rich richer, and poor men starve? Is time for new era. New system." The Russian stated teacherly.

"Why should the government encourage the lazy?" the pilot challenged, his brows knitting together. "My country is built upon the principles of hard work. That way everyone as a whole is encouraged to get better."

"Yes. But people in your country rich from opportunity. Not hard work. Opportunities are unfair, so we make everyone fair. We all happy."

"Neither of those is working. As always, the true answer is in between the two extremes." Ludwig said calmly.

"What are you saying, krauty?" the Pilot asked accusingly.

"Socialism, duh." Gilbert clarified, tilting his head and displaying a gloved palm.

"I didn't know that the Nazis were socialist. When I think of far-right wing government I think of Capitalism." The American said, popping a piece of hard-candy his mouth. How did the vain Americans still have all of these resources to waste on candy? Gilbert was struck by fury. The Germans Wehrmacht was freezing without shoes in Russia!

"Our social policies are far right, but our economics are relatively moderate. I'm ashamed that the man who thought Communism up was German." Ludwig noted.

"At least in Russia we not hypocritical. Americans preach equality. But still have racism and sexism like Nazi."

"How dare you compare us to the Nazis! We're not half as bad. Plus, at least _we_ didn't commit genocide of our own people. Russia and Germany did!" the pilot hissed. "This isn't even the first time for the Germans. They killed a bunch of Africans in 1904."

"Need I remind Sergeant Jones about how his ancestors killed American natives? Only difference between American Manifest Destiny and Nazi Lebensraum is that manifest Destiny was successful." the Russian chirped, almost sweetly.

"Hitler referenced America of that several times in Mein Kampf, actually," Ludwig added, his brows raised amusedly. The German seemed to find entertainment in stirring up the two 'allies.'

"Need I mention slavery?" Gilbert piped.

"Well… that's not fair. It was a different time back then. But it's the twentieth century now! In 1932 you killed a million Ukrainians for no reason." The pilot jabbed at the Soviet.

"We did not kill them. They starved. That is all."

"Because you Russians didn't let the whole country eat. You took all of their food or sold it abroad." The American countered.

Ludwig flashed a cunning smile at the Russian from his position on the log opposite of him. "You Soviet bastards left the Ukrainians in such a starved shape they were happy to see us Nazis when we came rolling over the fields in our Panzers. Even the Ukrainian _Jews_ saw us as liberators from Stalin."

The Russian glared fixedly at Ludwig, before turning his gaze back on the American bomber pilot. He smiled slightly, as if what he were about to say next was his trump card. "American put own loyal citizens in camps like Germans do."

"Liar!" The American yelled, pushing his right boot on the ground.

"Japanese internment camps, da?"

Alfred narrowed his blue hawk eyes. "You have Gulags. And our version is different. We feed them there and stuff, unlike the Nazis. The kids go to school. No one is exploited to work or killed. We just needed to put them somewhere so they couldn't spy on us to their emperor."

"I _doubt_ they were spying. Were just civilians living their lives. Americans racist against Japanese just like Nazi against Jew. American prejudice against blacks, too.

"I am _not!_ Quit generalizing, Ruskie. Why don't you go drink some vodka and dance Cossack for us?" The American was chewing on a piece of straw now, a tip sticking out of the corner of his mouth like a cowboy in one of his movies. He eyed the Russian coolly with his ice-blue eyes from the other side of the campfire.

"Yes, says man from stupid country who make fool of self trying to abolish alcohol ten years ago. Why don't you go cook us up some hamburgers?" The Russian returned.

The pilot narrowed his eyes at the infantryman. Gilbert felt the air crackle. He wrapped an arm protectively around Elizabeta, half expecting a fist fight to break right in front of them.

"Uh… guys, let's not fight here," Feliks said, cutting the tension in the air with his voice.

The Soviet and American each leaned back in their seats.

"Da..." the Russian sighed. The American nodded once in approval.

Feliks braced himself beneath the log and rolled it back from the fire. He then laid down on the ground. "It's gonna be totally cold when the fire goes out," the Pole hummed.

"Much worse on the Russian front," Ludwig and the Soviet said simultaneously. "You'll survive." Ludwig added.

Gilbert noticed the Russian look over to the American. "Jones, you have any spare rope?"

The boy shook his head. "'Fraid not. Why?"

"Wanted to tie Germans up for night. But is okie. I will watch them."

The Soviet was going to watch them sleep? All…Night…Long? Gilbert found himself not looking forward to sleeping tonight.

"You want to take shifts with me? I'll go first." the American offered.

"Nyet. You lost very much blood. You need to rest. I will wake you later."

There they were being nice to each other again.

"Whatever you want, dude," the American said with a shrug. He didn't seem to have any objections to sleeping. He shifted the rifle he had propped up against the log and leaned down on the ground. He buttoned his jacket up and folded his arms behind his head, staring up at the stars. The red firelight reflected in his eyewhites. The Soviet slumped off of his log and sat cross-legged on the grassy earth. The bazooka rested on the ground by his right knee and leaned diagonally on his left shoulder.

Gilbert pulled Elizabeta off the log with him.

"It's going to be cold tonight, when the fire fades and I'm only in this," Elizabeta voiced. She thumbed the thin uniform nervously. When they had escaped the first time they had been farther north, but then she had Roderich's coat to keep her warm.

"I'll keep you warm," he said.

* * *

He had been laying down with Elizabeta for a while, his arms wrapped around her. An hour, perhaps. Or two. The fire had been reduced to nothing but a few glowing red coals in the moonlight. The stars blazed coldly, mercilessly, above them; mocking his captivity. From his position laying down he couldn't tell if the Russian was watching them or not. Which also meant he probably couldn't see them all that well either. Elizabeta moved her head from its place on his chest and looked up at him.

"Gil, I have a present for you."

He raised an eyebrow silently. She pulled something out from inside her thin stripped shirt.

"Hungry? _No one_ should be hungry on Christmas Eve," she whispered, quoting what the American. She smiled sweetly and pulled out the pack of crackers the American had given her.

"You… you didn't want to eat all of them?" he murmured, "the Russian would kill you if he found out you saved some for me."

"You saved _me_ food when I was in Auschwitz, right?" She passed the American's food to him.

Carefully, he slid one of the crackers out of the paper packaging and ate it as quietly as he could. Hard pressed sheets of American flour and water were not his idea of a Christmas dinner: but as a soldier he had quickly learned not to be picky when it came to food. He smiled and tousled her hair. "Merry Christmas, Elizabeta." He breathed, kissing her on the ear.

"Merry Christmas Gilbert." She grinned. She pressed her head back on his hard chest, and he wrapped his arms around her once more.

* * *

 **A/N.** This author's note will have a lot of historical clarification. If you understood what was being talked about you probably can skip this.

**_Kaugummisoldat:_ ** _German term for Americans, used primarily in propaganda. 'Chewing gum soldier.' Derogatory._

**_Manifest Destiny:_ ** _Belief that white Americans were destined to spread west across the continent. Lead to the displacement and execution of millions of indigenous people._

**_Lebensraum:_ ** _'breathing room.' Territory believed especially by Nazis to be necessary for national existence or economic self-sufficiency. Included eastern Europe. 'Inferior' people were to be rooted out and replaced with Aryans._

**_King Frederick the Great:_ ** _King Frederick II, 'Old Fritz'. Famous Prussian king, brought the empire to its height._

Russians weren't allowed to Celebrate Christmas for much of the 20th century. Now, many Russians have returned to Russian Orthodoxy.

As with any case of starvation; about the worst thing a victim can do is eat too much. What Ivan mentions when he stops Elizabeta from eating the chocolate is true. The chocolate rationed to American soldiers was formulated to be especially high in calories and fat (and actually to taste bad, so they wouldn't eat it unless they had to)

Alfred is referring to the Holodomor in Ukraine, which was very similar to the Holocaust where Ukrainians were persecuted under Joseph Stalin's regime to crush their nationalism in 1932-33. Ukraine was the breadbasket of Europe, and Stalin ordered their grain productions to be raised by 40%. Obviously, this was an unachievable quota and families starved and were forbidden from leaving the country. Children were shot by guards for picking handfuls of grain. Due to Ukraine being under soviet control until recently (and now most survivors are now deceased), starvation leaving little evidence (bodies decayed, unlike gas chambers and concentration camps), it is not nearly as publicized as the Holocaust. The death toll of the Holodomor ranges from one million to seven million. The highest mortality rate was among children, as they were weak or often kidnapped. For comparison purposes, The Holocaust has been numbered around eleven-million dead (six million Jews, five million others). Jews who survived the Holodomor but were later put in camps by the Nazis reported that they'd rather be in a concentration camp than in Ukraine at the time.

Ivan is referring to the Japanese internment camps. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, widespread mistrust in the USA (especially in places like California and Hawaii) formed against American civilians of Japanese ancestry. Many of these people and their families were imprisoned in these camps out in the desert after wrongly being suspected of treason. It was primarily for Japanese, but people of Italian and German ancestry were sent to them in fewer numbers as well (only about 1/3 of Germans sent were actually members of the American gang of the Nazi party). It's a dark part of American history, but in contrast to Nazi camps the purpose of the internment camps was never to exploit or kill the inhabitants.

Any questions/comments please let me know.

This chapter was difficult for me to write. It had a lot of dialogue and used a lot of historical information, hence why it took me a while.

CelticFeather


	28. Chapter 28

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

The waxing moon was high in the star-speckled night sky, casting dramatic shadows around the dim clearing. The two whispered quietly through the night, about everything and nothing at all. All the while Gilbert was munching on crackers and occasionally making Elizabeta eat one.

"Elizabeta, I have a favor to ask you," the voice was quiet, as to avoid being overheard by any unwanted parties.

"Mhm?" she murmured.

"I want you to go check on the American. But while you're over there, I want you to do something else too."

"And what would that be?" the Hungarian questioned, somewhat curious.

"I want you to take all of the bullets out of the magazine in his gun and put it back in empty. So it looks to him like it's loaded. But it's not."

 _…_ _.What!_

"Why?" she asked, her voice high and caught off guard. "Are we planning on running away?"

Gilbert looked at her quizzically. "We _have_ to do something eventually. Otherwise come morning Mr. Red's gonna ditch you back at his base camp with only a couple of busy Russian-speaking nurses to protect you from Soviet rapists. Not to mention Ludwig and myself will be on a nice cozy train to spend the rest of our lives off rotting in some POW hole in Siberia."

Átok! Why did soldiers have to be like this? It would be easy just to talk and pull a few strings, but the politics of war were engraved too deeply. As far as the allies knew, letting the two German soldiers go might as well be condoning the murder of a hundred of their comrades. Even if in their hearts they wanted to, for the sakes of their causes the allies could never voluntarily let Ludwig or Gilbert go free.

"Why not do it to the Russian too?" she asked.

"Bazookas need to be reloaded every time, it would be more trouble than it's worth. He'll notice the grenade cone missing on the tip of the barrel immediately, too. Plus, I think the Ami trusts you. If he wakes up while you're doing it or the Russian sees you, they'll just think you're checking on his wounds."

"That's cruel and dishonorable; abusing his trust like that. We're his enemies, he doesn't even need trust us at all." Elizabeta said, her tone chastising.

"I'm sorry Elizabeta. There's no honor or heroism in war. That's the talk of fools, most of them dead. We need to do what we need to do." the Prussian stated.

"You would use me for this?"

"I'm not using you," he said, "you're the only one who can do it without getting caught. Therefore the choice is yours." His voice was as even as his gaze.

"I can't say I like Ivan much. The only respect for him I have is that he tries to take care of people and he hasn't killed either of you yet, although he's had justifiable reason to the moment he saw your uniforms. I was planning on stabbing him with your dagger back on the road when the fight broke out when I thought we had no other option. But Alfred is different."

"Yeah? How so? I'm sure if we didn't find him half dead already he wouldn't have hesitated to blow mine or Ludwig's skulls apart any more than the Russian had." Gilbert's voice was demanding and stern even in his whisper.

The Hungarian winced under his harsh words. She knew why they hurt: his last sentence was likely completely true. From Gilbert's point of view the statement sounded flawlessly reasonable. Had she been in his big black combat boots she knew she probably would have said the same. But a cold talon of guilt curled around her heart. The American was a soldier, yes, but just a kid likely even younger than Feliks. She couldn't bring herself to even imagine anyone shooting someone like Feliks. "Alfred went out of his way to be nice to us. That has to count for something," she breathed, her tone faltering unintentionally at the end. She immediately hated the sound.

Gilbert's red eyes glittered and looked downwards upon hearing her tone, his mouth suddenly dropping apologetically. His eyes widened innocently. He had realized he had hurt her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and held her close.

"Elizabeta…I just want to make it a little safer for us four if the opportunity to run arises. It won't be putting either of the allies directly in any more danger, okay?" his voice was softer and comforting this time.

 _All it means is that if they caught us running away, instead of them killing you first, you'd kill them first,_ her mind supplied. Gilbert's garnet eyes still stared earnestly at her, awaiting an answer.

"Fine." Elizabeta ground out, "I'll do it. If you promise not to kill him because he can't defend himself."

"…I'll do what I can," Gilbert whispered. But it was clear from the way his eyes flickered he wasn't willing to commit.

* * *

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

A blue eye flickered open slowly, calmly. There was not a noise that had awakened him, rather some war-hardened instinct inside of him had alerted him it was time to do so. It was still the middle of the night, perhaps in the early hours of the next day long before the sun had risen. It was cold, but not numbingly so. Long dry grass waved silently from between the trees in the night breeze. The fire was long since dead and only housed a few red embers curling around charred bones of wood. About an hour earlier the sound of Elizabeta and Gilbert whispering had woke him up. He heard Elizabeta get up and check on the sleeping American. He also saw her do something with his gun, for reasons unknown. Currently it appeared everyone else was asleep; _well_ except for the Russian, of course. Ludwig couldn't quite discern if their red-army incarcerator was conscious or not. All he observed was the large silhouette leaning against a tree on the far edge of the clearing exactly as he had when Ludwig was confident he was awake and watching them. It was too dark for him to examine the Russian's face or analyze his breathing pattern, but either way, the German would know soon enough.

A quick glance to the left revealed Feliks as sprawled out on his stomach on the earth, arms and legs crossed every-which-way. He was snoring softly. The American was asleep too, his back propped up against the same tree he had been slumped against when the quintet had discovered him, rather than one of the logs around the dead campfire. Even though they didn't have their guns anymore perhaps the American had decided it wasn't so safe to sleep right next to a duo of unrestrained enemy soldiers. A wise choice.

Then he looked to his brother and Elizabeta. Sleeping virtually on top of each other; of course. He was confident that the only thing that restrained them from having sex was everyone else around. Sex before marriage. How deplorable. Ludwig knew he and Gilbert were far from virgins themselves, but he understood as a soldier these rules didn't quite apply. Whoever they did it with in the past was willing and never an object of affection and both parties understood that. Ludwig didn't hate Elizabeta, in fact, he realized rapidly that she must have been exceptional if she had managed to tame his brother. But he also understood the Hungarian girl likely didn't trust him unconditionally. Respect? Certainly. But trust? That was… unlikely. Perhaps it was easier to trust him before she was aware of exactly what actions the lifestyle of an SS required of him. He had overheard his brother describe their most-recent quarrel to her at the campfire.

Which then brought his attention to Gilbert. Ludwig didn't blame Elizabeta for the situation they were in, but he could indeed pin her as the catalyst for the change in his brother. The two brothers couldn't afford to be fighting in a time like this, where if they wanted to escape with their lives fate would require nothing less than unity. He would have to fix Gilbert about that. Even if Gilbert disagreed with how unworthy people were treated, there were still plenty of honorable tenets Nazism possessed he was sure the albino agreed with in the past. Nationalism was the main one, of course. Gilbert was the second-proudest German he knew, going as far as to declare himself the product of a state long-since dissolved. They both loved their countries and were prepared to die for them the moment they enlisted. There was the virtual elimination of unemployment in Germany that the Nazis had brought about. Years before the war started in 1939 Hitler had preached peace to his fellow Europeans –lying through his teeth, of course- but he undeniably _did_ get the depression-crushed economy better. Between '33 and summer '39 their countrymen had been happy and prosperous. And obviously there was the development and use of a powerful military that Gilbert would have liked too. Deep down, they both held an affection for fighting. And if it was good for your country; even better.

Ludwig sighed. He would have to fix his brother and get him back to how he was in the good old days. But that would be an endeavor for another day. It really was foolish of the allies to leave him and Gilbert unrestrained at night. Even if they lacked rope, the allies could have at least torn up the remnants of the American's parachute and bound their hands and feet together with that.

Slowly, carefully, Ludwig shifted to his side. He pressed his gloved palms on the ground and bent his knees, slowly easing his weight off of the earth. He stood straight and tall in the center of the clearing, illuminated by the windy shafts of starlight. He waited a moment, expecting some heavily accented voice to tell him to lay down again. Ludwig stared cunningly against the tree where he knew the Russian sat. He heard nothing. The Red must have been asleep, or else he would have seen Ludwig get up and would have done something. Even if he squinted it was too dark over there to see completely. The blond then looked over to the sleeping American. His rifle was propped against the tree next to him where Elizabeta had left it. The man was snoring somewhat loudly, Ludwig was surprised that between all of the noise he was making and the scent of his blood he hadn't attracted any animals. Preferably something they could kill and eat. He was hungry.

Ludwig moved silently, as men did instinctively at night. He glanced once at his brother but deemed it too dangerous to risk a noise to wake him up. Especially if Elizabeta awoke as well and decided to interfere. If everything went according to plan Ludwig shouldn't be in need the elder's assistance anyway. Five of the six would be awake soon enough. He tread right for the American. As the German got closer and his eyes adjusted he noticed the pilot wasn't just dozing like the Russian, but was full on slumbering. Exhausted from crashing and losing all of that blood, likely. Ludwig couldn't blame him.

He stood over the American wistfully for a moment. Young and strong he was, with fine Aryan features unmogreled from the genetic mess that was the United States. Shame this happened to him. Ludwig snaked an arm through the air and picked up the American's rifle. It was an aesthetically crafted weapon, moonlight reflecting in the waxy woodgrain that consisted for most of the M1's siding. Unlike the mostly metal Sturmgewehr he was assigned back at camp the only parts of this rifle that displayed metal were the short exposed barrel and the magazine along its belly that held the bullets. He hefted it in his hand, comforted by its familiar weight. Gilbert had not raised a coward.

Rifle in hand, he started stalking towards the Russian. Yes, he'd shoot the Russo first. He was already armed, and the gunshot would wake the American who would be easy enough to subdue.

The communist was still sleeping. Unlike that American with his raucous snoring the Soviet slept calmly, alertly, with a tired smile on his face. If Ludwig didn't recognize the steady rise and fall of his chest as the breathing pattern of a sleeping man he would have assumed that the Russian was merely resting his eyes. He switched the M1 to both hands and laced his right index finger around the cold trigger. He pointed the barrel of the American rifle against the scarved, pale throat. _Merry Christmas. Saint Nikolaus brought you lead._

_Click._

Click. Click.

….Click.

The barrel resonated with the hollow thunk of an empty chamber. Why wasn't the gun firing? That was the sound it made when it was out of bullets! But the magazine was placed correctly, wasn't it? A pair of purple eyes flickered open at the noise, staring up at Ludwig curiously. Then with realization. Swiftly, the Soviet reached for the bazooka that lay next to him.

Ludwig was without a functioning firearm. But he was in possession of a finely functioning club. Without a moment's hesitation he swung the wooden butt of the rifle above his head and used gravity to smash it down towards the Russian's skull. Tree bark shattered off in a cloud of splinters as Ludwig swung the rifle towards the trunk. But the Soviet had ducked to the side and was already on the ground searching for the RPG. This was going downhill fast.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig screeched, risking a precious moment to look over his shoulder to his brother for backup.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

What was all of this stupid noise for? He was trying to sleep. Gilbert cracked a burgundy eye open lazily. Then there was more noise, like the sound of a fistfight. Also a few heavier clangs of wood and metal. He thought he heard his name somewhere in the mix, too.

He stood up swiftly and scanned the clearing. Ludwig and the Russian were wrestling on the ground. He saw Ludwig smash a gun against the Russian's back with an audible thud. The Russian countered with a vicious punch to his brother's face. From the other end of the clearing he saw Ludwig lock eyes with him.

"Gilbert!" his brother commanded, holding the Russian down with his boot. "Get the Ami! I'll handle the Russ!"

Elizabeta stirred next to him on the cold earth. An intelligent green eye cracked open upon hearing his name.

"Gil..?"

"Eliza, stay here. Wake Feliks and be ready to run."

Without waiting for a response the Prussian bolted. Legs flying over the ground Gilbert quickly covered the distance from the campfire to where the American sat. The pilot was out cold, not even the commotion of battle waking him up. Slouched against the tree-trunk, the soldier didn't even stir.

"Alfred!" It was the Soviet who yelled it this time, risking a precious moment of time to look back to his comrade. The German kneed the Russian in the jaw to shut him up, but the blow came too late. Ludwig grasped the Russian by the collar and forced him to the ground.

Panting, he ripped his eyes away from his brother's fight and turned his attention back to the task at hand. Gilbert leaned darkly over the American. He fixed the dagger he had kept concealed out from his coat. He gripped the curving black and silver hilt with conviction in his right hand and crouched before the sleeping pilot.

"Gilbert! Stop! You _promised!_ You promised that if I unarmed him you wouldn't!"

The familiar voice was laced heavily with desperation and betrayal. Elizabeta was running towards him now, tears running down her face. Feliks stood behind her. "Don't kill him, Gilbert! We had a _deal!"_ she screamed.

_I didn't promise anything. I'm just doing what I have to do to get us all out safely. Elizabeta, please understand._

He readied the knife, suspending it in the air above the pilot's exposed throat. Elizabeta was still too far away. Gilbert pinned the pilot to the tree with his knee, holding him still for the cleanest cut.

But then, as if by some silent command, the pair of blue eyes finally flickered open.

_Scheiße._

"Jerry….what are you doing?" the American asked.

The voice was high pitched, uncertain like that of a confused child. The American's sapphire eyes glittered honestly in the moonlight, full of an emotion so pure Gilbert had a difficult time comprehending it on the face of a soldier. The American looked to his left for his rifle to find it wasn't there. Deep in the cerulean depth of the American's eyes Gilbert saw waves of confusion and betrayal rolling like an ocean. He knew he was going to die.

Those eyes bore a hole in his soul. So blue, and full of pain and confusion. Wondering what mistake he had made. It was not the emotion in them that struck the Prussian so, he had seen the very same look in men about to die before. But what bothered him was the fact that this time, Gilbert found the expression on the American's face _familiar._ He had seen it before. As if in a dream, or from an experience a long time ago. Where had he seen them before? Those childlike blue eyes staring beseechingly at him, full of questions.

With a shock, Gilbert realized precisely where he had seen that look before. For a second, the person looking into his eyes wasn't the American, it was a young Ludwig. Hardly eight years old. The eyes were big and blue, not yet tarnished by the kiln of war. It was on the day all of those years ago Ludwig had come home from school, after he had explained what he'd done. He was still wondering innocently where their father was when Gilbert had to break it to his brother that he was dead.

He flipped the knife in his hand. No. Don't think about it. This wasn't little Luddy, just an enemy soldier. He just had to slide the blade across the sweating flesh, a mere flick of his wrist and he would be free. They would all be free.

"Gilbert! Please!" It was Elizabeta again, still running towards him. All of this contemplation had taken place in the space of three seconds.

Ludwig, no –the American –no, what did he say his name was? Alfred?- grasped him on the shoulder.

"Jerry, make it quick. An' ya better put all the wounds in the front, I won't let anyone think I died running away." Alfred declared fiercely. His previous hesitation had vanished from his gaze.

Gilbert raised the dagger. The gray steel gleamed a harsh silver in the moonlight. A thrust of his arm sent the blade plummeting down towards Alfred's throat. The long triangular blade glinted hungrily in the shafts of starlight. He slashed a thin, red, smile across the man's exposed collarbone. As the capillaries ruptured a sticky crimson began to pool from the cut.

Elizabeta shrieked in maddening rage.

He felt the American's hand drop from his shoulder.

A spray of black dirt signaled the arrival of Elizabeta skidding to a halt beside him. She roughly grabbed Gilbert's shoulders and forced him to stare her in her burning malachite eyes. He was surprised by her strength. "Gilbert, he was wounded! There was no need for you to murder him!" she snarled, "he was in no shape to stop you!"

Ignoring Elizabeta for the moment, he pulled the dagger back to his waist and stood up. Hopefully Ludwig wouldn't check his handiwork. Because if he did, he would notice that the blade scarcely broke the American's tanned skin. He ran his fingers along the gray blade and swiped the American blood onto the ground. He fixed Alfred with his steadily burning scarlet gaze.

"You are going to play dead. If I _ever_ see you again, I will not hesitate to finish the job."

Through half lidded eyes Alfred looked up at him. It was not a defeated look. The blue shone out from the long brown lashes. He frowned for a moment, contemplating this. But his face erupted in a sly grin, white canine teeth displayed under thin lips. Perhaps he'd play along. For his sake. For the girl's. He winked at Elizabeta, then closed his eyes again.

"Y'all had better get out of here now," Alfred whispered. His eyes flicked once to the other end of the clearing, to where the Russian and Ludwig fought. "And Jerry, if I ever see you again, we'll finish it for real when we're both better. Mano a mano."

"Alfred," Elizabeta whispered. The American smiled.

"Stay safe, Elizabeta. Thanks for patchin' me up." he said.

Gilbert nodded sternly at the American but said nothing more. He escorted Elizabeta out in front of him towards the center of the clearing. He raised his hand behind him in silent goodbye to Alfred.

The American cleared his throat. Gilbert stopped, his back still turned. What did he want?

"Jerry, what's your name? You _do_ got one, dontcha?" the American asked.

Gilbert turned his face profile, his body not showing any signs that he was talking to a corpse. "Gilbert Beilschmidt," he grunted. Then he walked forward and exited from his earshot.

He fixed his gaze on where he had last seen Ludwig. The blond and the Russian were fighting close to the fire, but it was obvious that Ludwig was winning. Despite the Russian's size, the fact that Ludwig had a weapon and the initial element of surprise was whirling the fight brutally in his favor.

A hand clutched Gilbert on the shoulder, the touch softer than a moth's wing. Elizabeta locked eyes with him. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"It doesn't matter," he said gruffly, "You got what you wanted. The boy's alive." He motioned with his hand for her to stay here. "You can fill Feliks in. I'm going over there to help Ludwig."

* * *

**A/N.**

The nation of Hungary initially wanted to avoid military confrontation in WWII, but they benefited greatly from their trade with Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany in the 1930's which pulled them out of the great depression. Due to this they were swept up into becoming part of the Axis powers. While waging war against the USSR, Hungary engaged in secret peace negotiations with the UK and USA. Upon finding out about this in March 1944, Hitler ordered the occupation of Hungary by German troops. This led to the deportation of nearly 600,000 Hungarian Jews late in the war.

All the best,

CelticFeather.


	29. Chapter 29

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Elizabeta nodded upon hearing Gilbert's command to inform Feliks. Hearing his name, the little blond stepped closer. He had been watching Elizabeta this whole time. The Pole started asking questions, pointing frantic fingers at the dead American who had shared his food and was chatting with him just a few hours earlier. Gilbert couldn't hear what they were saying, but he saw Feliks's expression relax with every syllable her lips formed. Elizabeta glanced at Gilbert in good luck. She flipped her chin towards the two fighting men in agreeance for him to go.

With every moment knowing it was one his brother could be killed, Gilbert raced towards where the two enemy soldiers fought. He swung the dagger out from his hip and with long strides covered the short distance.

The Prussian saw Ludwig mercilessly bring the club down on the Soviet's abdomen and spring swiftly out of reach again. The larger man spat blood onto the ground and glared coldly up at Ludwig. The German traced his gaze to Gilbert. Upon noticing this second adversary, the Soviet stared at Gilbert. It wasn't the frigid angry gaze he had been threatened with when the Soviet had originally captured them, deep in the indigo abyss of the Soviet's eyes there was a different emotion. Gilbert recognized it as fear. An emotion as old as the species that no mortal -not even the winterhearted Russian- was immune to. By some wordless communication, perhaps their minds of war being on the same instinctive wavelength for the time being, Gilbert mirrored Ludwig's movements to stand opposite him on the far side of the Russian. They blocked him from going back to the tree where his weapons and the pack where his supplies were. Like sharks the two Germans circled their prey. Or vultures, Gilbert decided, was a more apt analogy. If the Soviet couldn't handle Ludwig he might as well already have been a dead man by the time Gilbert joined the fray.

In this moment where the two Germans had allowed him a second the breathe, the Soviet desperately began fiddling with a pouch on his hip. Gilbert glanced at Ludwig in warning, to tell him to strike with the longer range of the club before the Soviet could finish whatever he was doing. But he realized then that Ludwig was breathing hard, with a hand clutching his diaphragm. The Russian unbuttoned the pouch violently and slid something out. It gleamed threateningly in the moonlight.

A bayonet. Easily as long as Gilbert's dagger, but thinner and straighter than the almost triangular blade of Gilbert's weapon. He must have had trouble getting it out when Ludwig was busy shattering every bone in his body. Perhaps his concern then was avoiding immediate contact between the M1 and his skull.

There was no way Gilbert was going to get up close to the larger Soviet if it came to a knife fight. Unlike a bludgeoning weapon, any strike from a knife could be lethal. If Gilbert got close it would be a battle of speed and precision that would decide who would die first. Ludwig looked to his brother once in warning, acknowledging the dangerous range limitation of the elder's weapon.

Gilbert wouldn't come so close to freedom to be foolish in such a risk. He had –they all had- been through too much just to get killed by a Communist. He dropped his dagger onto the ground behind him. The partially bloodied blade wedged half-submerged in the soft forest earth. "Ludwig! The rifle, throw it to me!" Gilbert commanded.

"I've got it," Ludwig stated between breaths "just stand back. I'll finish him."

"You're tired. Give it to me. Don't argue!"

Ludwig squinted, but knew better than to jeopardize the mission with time lost arguing. The blonde took a step to the side so the path of the rifle did not intersect with their enemy. He sent the rifle spinning through the air at his brother. Gilbert caught it firmly.

The Soviet was standing now, his bayonet gripped fiercely in his right hand. Gilbert noticed him favoring his left side. Blood soaked through the green-gray infantry uniform and dribbled down from the Russian's mouth and nose. But the purple eyes still scorched him with hatred.

In an instant, purposefully forgoing the formalities of an indirect assault, Gilbert charged forward. He hefted the club behind his right shoulder and screamed. He brought it down in a cutting diagonal motion between the throat and the shoulder of the Soviet. He had seen the same motion kill men instantly when used with a spade in trenches. But before the butt of the rifle could make contact the Soviet staggered to the side. He lunged and swiped the cutting end of his bayonet towards Gilbert's abdomen. The Prussian adverted his strike and blocked the swipe of the blade with the wooden body of the M1. The metal tip embedded itself in the wood and Gilbert was left unscathed. With a thrust of his forearms Gil spun the rifle and sent the Soviet's wrist twisting and his bayonet spearing off into the gray light. He heard a faint clang of it landing somewhere far away. Balancing the movement, Gilbert raised his knee and kicked the now weaponless Russian to the ground. He pitilessly smashed the club down on him, bludgeoning him brutally on the right side. Gilbert heard the audible crack of human ribs and the moaning of cartilage.

Fire sang through his veins as he raised the club again, the urge to kill strong in his mind. The Soviet screamed and backed away on the ground, but he stopped upon his back colliding with a tree trunk. Gilbert followed him with slow, calculated, measured steps. The Russian's chest rose raggedly, unevenly, as his oxygen-starved muscles demanded air at a rate that his ribcage could no longer keep up with. The Prussian could see two tiny shadows of himself stalking forward reflected in the Soviet's wide violet irises. They were the clear eyes of a man who stared death in the face. And this time, Gilbert did not feel pity. He raised the club behind him a final time.

"We'll see whose brain is really splattered against the trees," the Prussian whispered.

Gilbert heard a thump behind him and paused before his strike. But no one was over there but…. The American? The pilot was trying to tell him something. Ludwig wasn't paying attention to the body of the American who he thought to be dead; he was fixated on watching his brother kill their enemy.

 _Well duh he's trying to say something: 'Don't kill the Russian.'_ But the American's life was already generous enough, and that had hardly been his own doing. Gilbert raised the club again. There were no green or blue eyes staring beseechingly at him now. He saw no reason to spare the Russian from his fate.

Another thump from behind him.

_Shut up dumbass, unless you want to get yourself found out! Then Ludwig will kill your ass and there won't be a damn thing I'll do to save you._

Gilbert's red pupils slid angrily to the corners of his eyes as he tried to figure out what the American was trying to convey, all of this happening in a fraction of a second. Obviously the pilot didn't want the Russian to die, but Gilbert was more curious as to the American's why than his what. The silver-haired male brought the club down sternly but not lethally on the opposite side of the Soviet's bludgeoned chest cavity. The Russian coughed blood, some landing on Gilbert's shoes, but the downed man was obviously expecting a killing blow to the head than one to the torso.

It bought Gilbert a few seconds to think as he raised his weapon again. Why would Alfred risk his own life just for the Russian to live? Sure, they were allies, but it wasn't like they were friends or anything. Judging by the argumentative conversation at the campfire last night he doubted that they had forged any sort of amity in their short time together.

Another warning thump.

His wounds. Gilbert realized then that the Russian's life and that of Alfred were one and the same. Alone in enemy territory without means of communication or professional medical help, the pilot would be dead in a day. If the Soviet couldn't take him back to his base camp the American would breathe his last in occupied Poland. Alfred was only asking for what Gilbert had already given him. His life.

And he was really looking forward to killing that damn communist too.

Gilbert nodded once, showing to the American who was watching him from behind through the gaps in his eyelashes that he understood.

Gilbert hefted the club again. He raised it above the Soviet's head. The fear in the Russian's eyes was unadulterated and hard, but he was too weakened to fight back. Eventually he pressed them closed, in preparation for the blow that was to come. Gilbert smashed the wooden rifle butt against the defeated soldier's temple. Had the Russian's eyes been open he would have seen them roll back in his head. Gilbert used less than lethal force, knowing that the Russian would awaken from his unconsciousness in half an hour or so. Well after himself, Elizabeta, Ludwig, and Feliks had fled.

Gilbert stepped back and leaned the M1 vertically against the ground, his eyes lingering on the Russian's still body for a moment.

"Well done." Ludwig said, walking closer. He had been watching the fight from several meters away. Feliks and Elizabeta were watching from the campfire too. "But I could have done it faster. You play with your food, one of these days those few extra hits will get you killed."

Gilbert shrugged. "He's dead, ain't he? Last time I checked that's what matters." Much to the albino's amusement, Ludwig had mistaken the extra blows as a madman's torturous glee.

Feliks skipped up to the two Germans, Elizabeta in tow. Hopefully Elizabeta understood to make it clear to Feliks not to show any knowledge of Gilbert not dispatching Alfred. Feliks wasn't always so bright to know what not to say, Ludwig would not be pleased about hearing the American was spared from a beating or worse.

"Hey Gil, that was like, way scary impressive!" the Pole said, happy to be free. Free to do what, the Prussian wasn't entirely sure. Probably frolic around in meadows and have pillow-fights. Ludwig grunted in response.

Gilbert traced his gaze towards Elizabeta, his brows raised in question. To see if she had anything against him killing the Russian. To his surprise, she met his gaze confusedly, wondering what he was asking. She held the Russian's body with a cold acceptance. She didn't particularly seem regretful. She regarded him as an enemy that needed to be dealt with. He had done nothing to earn her respect.

Ludwig walked away suddenly, as if remembering something. Gilbert quickly stepped closer to Elizabeta and Feliks.

"Neither are dead. Don't let Ludwig find out." Gil whispered rapidly.

Elizabeta and Feliks nodded. A question was forming on Feliks's lips, but he quickly silenced himself upon hearing Ludwig returning to earshot. The blonde German clasped his brother on the shoulder. Eliza straightened.

"I saw this land in the dirt." Ludwig said. He passed his brother back his dagger. Gilbert had been so caught up in the battle he had almost forgot he had relinquished it in favor of the rifle-club.

Gilbert wiped the mud off of it with his fingers and stowed it back at his belt. "Thanks."

"Alright, let's get our stuff and leave." Ludwig ordered to all of those listening. "If I don't eat something soon I'll kill Feliks and eat him instead. And I can't even _remember_ the last time I had something to drink." Ludwig sighed slowly, placing a gloved hand to his brow and pressing his blue eyes closed. He was probably fighting off a headache.

Feliks stomped the ground, offended. Ludwig's blue eyes flickered open again. "Hey, why do _you,_ like, have to bully _me?_ I pulled my weight in this operation, you said so yourself. I took Roderich down, didn't I?" Feliks squeaked.

Ludwig barked out a laugh. "You had that knife I gave you along with the chloroform. Roderich was a trained soldier, he would have decimated you in a fair fight." Ludwig stated, simply. Gilbert noticed he used 'was' as opposed to the present tense.

"How does it feel to go hungry Ludwig?" Eliza purred from Gilbert's side, suppressing a wry laugh. Ludwig was the soldier, but it was obvious that Elizabeta and Feliks were their superiors when it came to the field of endurance. Gilbert had eaten the crackers Eliza had given him that morning, so although he was very thirsty the hunger wasn't something he couldn't deal with. He supposed that was the price Ludwig had to pay for his beliefs. He stayed quiet.

"Maybe I'll kill Elizabeta instead." the German growled, rolling his eyes at the Hungarian's superior tone. Eliza huffed.

Gilbert pulled Elizabeta away and fixed his taller brother with a dark stare and snorted. "You won't. You'd have to go through me first." Obviously, Ludwig's threats were only joking –or as close to a joke as the blonde would get, anyway- had the threat been against himself Gilbert would have merely laughed with his younger brother. But Gilbert did not approve of Ludwig threatening Eliza.

"How come Ludwig isn't on the menu, huh?" Feliks asked.

"Because he's full of shit. That's why."

Ludwig stared back at him hotly. Gilbert hadn't realized it of course, but everyone had stopped walking as the air crackled between the two brothers.

"Who put _you_ in charge, _traitor?"_ Ludwig challenged, incensed at this blatant insubordination.

"This is not a military operation anymore. You are not my superior." Gilbert responded nonchalantly.

"It's _always_ been a military operation. I had an objective, a plan for said objective, and I carried it out."

"It's funny how your mind works." Gilbert added coldly.

"Oh? I am glad I risked my skin and my job saving such an appreciative brother from the consequences of his own stupid actions." Ludwig drawled, his lips pressing into a firm line.

" _What was that!?"_ Gilbert snarled. "Now, I'm glad that you've helped us, but I'm sure we would have found a way out of the prison on our own. I'm not indebted to your fascist ass! I'm your brother."

"Shut up and admit I saved your skin, Gilbert."

"And _I_ saved _your_ ass from Mr. Red. _Twice."_ Gilbert responded heatedly.

"Yes. And both situations we wouldn't have been in if it wasn't for you."

Elizabeta and Feliks stood at the side, not sure if interfering would guarantee themselves a spot in the blooming argument. Eventually Feliks –either too shrewd or too stupid- spoke up.

"Uh guys…. Let's um, go. Okay? These dead bodies I was talking to last night are starting to creep me out." Feliks's green pupils slid to opposite ends of his eye whites to survey the bodies of the 'dead' American and Russian.

"Yes, let's go, shall we?" Elizabeta said quickly, further diffusing the fight. Gilbert narrowed his eyes. As soon as the common enemy was removed him and Ludwig had resumed their previous fight. Gilbert knew he would have to fix Ludwig, to get him back to how he was in the good old days. Erase this damn Nazism from his mind. Eventually the fight between the two brothers would have to happen. Unfortunately, Feliks and Elizabeta didn't quite seem to understand this. But Gilbert grudgingly accepted; he would wait for a better time to settle the score.

"Fine." Ludwig grunted. He started walking towards the direction where the Soviet lay to take their things. Elizabeta stepped in his way.

"I'll take care of that. You can help us figure out where the road is." she covered quickly. Gilbert gave Eliza a lot of credit for her quick thinking. A soldier such as Ludwig would have realized the Russian was still alive almost instantly upon getting close.

The German shrugged, he eyed her suspiciously though. He was probably wondering why she had offered to do something for him even though she was probably on Gilbert's side of the argument. "Right," he said slowly, glancing in the direction of the rising sun. "Do not bother taking any weapons that are not ours. It is too easy to recognize as allied material and may prompt attention."

"Alright." Elizabeta confirmed. She set off towards the Russian's bags that lay against the roots on the tree several left to the one he was slumped against. She placed the few cans of food in their own messenger-style pack and looked back.

* * *

**-Alfred F. Jones-**

It really was boring, laying over here pretending to be dead with all of this fun action going on. Alfred contemplated if he should stick his tongue out or not, to add to the dead guy look, but decided against it. He would probably start drooling. And drooling was definitely not dignified behavior. He heard a rumor that people's bowels emptied when they died. Perhaps he should try and fart instead? Sitting around doing nothing was absolutely not Alfred's style. He should be out looking for his brother, to see if he made it out of the airplane. Surely he did; Matthew was uncool, underconfident, and completely lacking in everything that made Alfred amazing, but he certainly was not stupid… Matthew was okay…

"Are we, yes, ready to leave?" he heard Feliks say, wrenching Alfred away from his thoughts. Alfred followed the smaller blonde with his pupils, staring through his darker-blonde eyelashes to observe what scene was before him.

"Yes, ready. I think the road lays this way. She should not far be." The blonde German pointed in some direction. Oh, those Germans were so funny with their voices. It all got mixed up when Alfred translated whatever they said back into the English he was familiar with in his head. Feliks and Elizabeta were somewhat easier to understand, as they spoke carefully. The fullblooded Germans just threw their words around wherever they wanted in their sentence. Alfred wasn't sure why everyone was so surprised that he spoke German conversationally. America was a melting pot. He supposed he was even a bit German by blood, although mostly English. Also Irish. And maybe a bit Dutch too. Surprisingly, he heard that somewhere way up his mother was Native-American; although he had a hard time believing it whenever he saw his crystal blue eyes in a mirror. He also spoke a few words of Italian quite well from his time in the city in addition to English and German. And he had picked up a handful of French curses and pick up lines from Mattie, of course…

"Yes, go we." Gilbert said.

"Should we, I know not… Bury them or something? I feel myself we knew them."

_ELIZABEEEETA! What are you thinking?! You know I'm still breathing, why would you want to bury me alive!? Oh it's totally payback for that whole chocolate incident! I really didn't think it would be bad for you, honest, I-_

"No. Soldiers make that not. Let the Allied bastards rot." Gilbert said. He glared hatefully in Alfred's direction before looking over to where Ivan lay.

_Hmmph! Glad you feel that way! And I thought we were pals, Gil! Well at least we don't have to go through that whole burying-alive thing anymore!_

Elizabeta and Gilbert shared a communicative glance. Alfred wasn't sure what they were saying to each other, but it seemed somewhat friendly. Like they had it planned out. Neither Feliks nor the blonde German objected.

"I apologize Elizabeta. That is not something we make in war. I understand you are not to it used, but we must now go." It was the blonde German who spoke, his tone genuinely remorseful. Elizabeta seemed to accept this quickly. Almost like it was deliberate… Had Elizabeta decided to mention burying him and Ivan because she knew that Blondie would get suspicious if she didn't say anything? It would explain why she would bring up something that would certainly kill Alfred if she knew that Blondie was already going to decline. Gilbert had caught on and disagreed with her, just as his brother would expect him to. Wow! She was pretty smart! Well, for a girl, at least.

"I understand," the Hungarian said, her voice tinged with false remorse. She looked back to Alfred and winked. Her hand dropped to her side with her palm facing him. She flexed the fingers and shook it slightly. A discreet wave goodbye. Alfred smiled, although he doubted that his Hungarian friend would be able to see it in the low dawn light. Gilbert looked to him out of the corner of his eye and nodded once. Then he started walking away.

_Bye guys. Thanks. It was nice to meet some Axis for a change who weren't complete jerks._

Blondie spoke again to the others. "We will see, if the Mercedes in order remains. We can also on the road for our pistols search. They should yet in the grass be." The words faded away as the larger German paced out of earshot, his crew following him away into the forest.

And so: Alfred was by himself. Again.

Well, there _was_ Ivan.

Not like the creepy man-child was any good for company.

Alfred waited ten minutes until he was sure that the German, Prussian, Hungarian, and Pole weren't coming back. He braced himself to stand up and walk over to help Ivan, carefully favoring his hurt right arm. He wasn't sure exactly what reason Gilbert had concocted in his mind to spare the Soviet, but Alfred was pleased that he had gotten the message. Maybe the Prussian wasn't as coldhearted as he liked to think himself to be. Alfred just didn't want to see Ivan die unnecessarily. Heroes didn't let that happen to anyone, ally or not.

But before he could stand up all the way, the Red's violet eyes flickered groggily open. Cool! He was up sooner than Alfred had expected.

The American popped up from the ground like a daisy. "Hey there! How goes it!"

The Russian looked like he had seen a ghost.

He pointed a finger at Alfred from where he sat, his brows raised in disbelief "You. I see kraut slit throat. I try warn you. You are dead…? I am dead?"

The Russian accent translated funny too. Ivan seemed to forget how to use anything but present-tense half of the time. Not to mention he ignored the word 'the' whenever possible. Ha! Alfred realized that he sounded just like that annoying British Tommy back at the base camp! Arthur would always pick on his English. 'learn your own damn language, yank!' the stuck up Brit would always grumble at him. Then Alfred would quickly counter with a much more incisive jab about bad teeth or bad food or warm beer or whatever it was that annoyed Arthur. Which was a lot. Alfred wondered for a moment what his accent sounded to other people before quickly deciding that he did not care.

"You are _very_ ugly angel."

"Nah. Gilbert let me live," Alfred replied coolly, "He just made it _look_ like he cut me."

The Soviet quirked a pale eyebrow. "What calls you him?"

"Gilbert? You deaf or somethin'?"

The Russian closed his eyes and shook his head. Then looked back at Alfred "Why would he do that?"

"'Dunno. Maybe he's just not as coldhearted as he liked to think he was."

"I think was something else..." Ivan's gaze flickered in the direction that he saw Elizabeta and the German leave in. But Alfred wouldn't know what. He wondered briefly where the four young Europeans were going, and what was in store for them there. He didn't know much about what was going on with these 'concentration camps' as Gilbert had called them, but he had a feeling that Feliks's and Elizabeta's striped outfits would draw unwanted attention from soldier and civilian alike.

Alfred stood up and paced over to the Russian. The sun was rising. He looked pretty beat up from when the bigger German and Gilbert had beaten him with his rifle. He grinned triumphantly. "Now, s' _my_ turn to help heal _you!"_

The absolute fear on Ivan's face wrought by a complete lack of confidence in Alfred's ability to heal almost hurt the American. _Almost._ Ivan snorted. "Yeah. Right. Like I'd trust you with that anyway. Is just bruises from club, nothing can sew up here. I probably bleeding on inside, not outside." Ivan laughed almost. "We fix it back at camp."

"Where's that?"

"Southeast. Not far. Maybe six kilometers."

"You don't want to chase after them or anything?" Alfred asked, testing him. He tried really hard to resist asking about how much that was multiplied by 1.6.

"Nyet," The Russian answered.

"Why not?"

Ivan squinted. "You like child. Ask too many questions. Maybe if be quiet you figure some things out for yourself, yes? Plus, annoying voice makes my heard hurt."

"How else would someone find something out but to ask? Jeez, you sound like an old Chinese man or something. Except _he_ would conjugate his verbs better." Alfred said. Gosh, he was learning all of these funny words from Arthur. _Conjugate._ The Brit would be so thrilled to hear about him finding someone who spoke a language worse than Alfred's English next time he saw him! Considering there _was_ some sort of way to get him back to his western Allies from here. There were hundreds of miles of hostile territory still between the two fronts, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he'd ever get back.

Ivan sighed from his position leaning against the tree trunk, much like how Alfred had been when he had found him. He fixed the American with his violet stare.

"They have us live. No need fight them again now." Ivan stated. He looked back up at Alfred and smirked coyly. "Plus…ah… what holiday is it for westerners again? I forget..."

"IT'S _CHRISTMAS_ , YOU DUMB IVAN!" Alfred screamed.

The Russian grinned at the American's vexation and pushed himself off of the tree. "Ha. Ivan. Not sure if I should pretend be offended or not."

"Oh right- your name actually _is_ Ivan! I love proving stereotypes right!" Alfred crowed.

Just like how a German was a Jerry and a Brit was a Tommy, the slang name for a Russian was Ivan. In fact, Alfred realized they all had kind of stereotypical names. Ludwig and Gilbert were obvious German names. He admitted he didn't know much about Polish or Hungarian names, but he sure as hell knew someone couldn't get much more American than 'Jones.' Alfred was a nice first name too; a good one from an older, simpler time. He was proud of it.

Ivan slowly got up and balanced himself against the tree trunk. The American walked a few steps to his left to the next tree where his stuff was. Deciding that the Russian was in no shape to carry all of his gear, Alfred looped his packs over his own shoulder. He picked the RPG-7 up in his left hand and strapped it over his broad back. Then he picked up his trusty old M1 from the ground where Gilbert had left it. It got the privileged spot in his right hand. He noticed it was still a bit bloody.

"Ya ready to go?" Alfred said, scratching those familiar pesky red-black stains away from the waxy wood with his fingernails.

The Soviet shifted on his feet. "Yes. I ready."

"You better not be one of those overly-proud types. There's only room for one of those here an' it's me. If you can't walk I'll carry you back if you tell me where to go." Alfred said.

"No thanks, tiny. I rather die against tree. I walk just fine, you see." the Russian replied.

Alfred scowled. Ivan was just about the only person he had ever met who could get away with calling him _'tiny.'_ Customarily, Alfred would meet any insult with a better one of his own or a punch to the face, but considering that the Russian was already beat up he would have to let him off the hook this time. Beating up people even more wounded then he was not exactly the most honorable thing in the world. Honor was very important to Alfred.

They started walking through the forest in the direction Ivan had pointed in. Well 'walking,' he decided, was a bit too much of a compliment given how slow and clumsy they were. The dawn light speared through the branches of the bare trees in oblique gray rays. If he listened closely Alfred could hear birds chirping, before the two wounded soldiers' loud footsteps scared them away. The forest passed by slowly. Alfred didn't mind it much. He loved being in the cockpit of his airplane, high above the mighty European skies, but the quiet of the woodland was fine for a change.

"Hi ho,

hi ho,

it's off to commie-base-camp we go," Alfred sang, bouncing slightly with each step he made through the forest.

"Please no singing," Ivan groaned.

"What? Got a thing against Snow White?"

"The fuck is a 'Snow White?'"

Alfred sighed. Silly Russians. Cut off from marvelous things like those new Disney cartoons coming out nowadays. But at least he got his cursing right when he spoke. "Sure thing, pal. I won't sing." Alfred said with a mischievous politeness.

Alfred grinned superiorly and whistled the tune instead as he walked forward.


	30. Chapter 30

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Pine trees stretched up into the sky, their trunks barren and branchless until they reached the dark green canopy. A blanket of orange pine needles carpeted the ground and made their footfalls silent. Gilbert stepped toward Elizabeta's vicinity. She did not match the imaginary distance, she was not still mad at him. He felt his heart lighten, he had done the right thing. Elizabeta still liked him and they had made it out of their captivity alive. For the time being, at least.

The pine trees began to thin. Cold dawn light began to stream out from the gaps in the foliage and the dusty expanse of the small forest road stretched out before them. A thin ditch of grass was in between the forest and the muddy road. The air was gray and veiled in an icy fog. The four escapees stood up on the asphalt and looked around. But there was no crumpled black car in sight. A silence encompassed the four as they stood on the road surface.

"Did we get lost?" Elizabeta questioned. It didn't sound like she believed it. The forest appeared exactly the same to Gilbert coming in the night before as it had coming out this morning. Gilbert paced along the roadside. He bent down and noticed the skid-marks left by the tires when the car had veered off the road. If he followed the wake carved by the tires into the soft earth his eyes were brought to the mangled tree trunk the car was against. There was shrapnel on the road, but no gleaming black Mercedes in sight.

It was then that Gilbert noticed that something else was missing too. It seemed Elizabeta noticed it at the same time he did.

"Borys's body…"

"It's gone."

"He made off with the car," Gilbert groaned, placing a palm to his brow. Its sale have gotten them more money than he and Ludwig made in a year.

"Damn Jew, I should have killed him earlier," Ludwig huffed.

"I would have done the exact same thing if the people I escaped with left me for dead and went off into the woods with a Rus," Elizabeta countered.

"A Mercedes would fetch thirty thousand marks on the black market, I don't give a damn what his reasonings were. I'd have crushed his skull on the way out had I known he'd steal it."

Shame the thing was gone, but complaining was not going to get them a new ride. "We'll just set up camp here on the side of the road and jack whatever is the next car that passes by," he said, as if hijacking a car was no big deal.

Ludwig nodded. "Fine."

Elizabeta and Feliks stood gawking at how blithely the two soldiers considered this crime. But they came up with nothing more practical.

"Too bad it could be like, _hours,_ before a car comes by on a road this far out in nowhere," Feliks pouted, plopping down on the grass between the edge of the small road and the treeline. Gilbert walked a short distance along the road, squinting his eyes through the sun to search for the glint of a gun barrel hidden in the grass. Eventually he found his and Ludwig's pistols were the Russian had thrown them into the ferns. He placed his pistol back in his coat and with a flick of his wrist landed the other spinning at Ludwig's feet, before going to sit next to Elizabeta.

Ludwig paced reconnaissance along the road for a few more minutes until returning. Gilbert saw him go to Elizabeta and take something to eat from the bag. Ludwig sat closer to the road, in a position ready for action, but still fairly distant to everyone else.

"I forget what town the American said he was bombing when he got shot down. It would have given us a good clue to our location." Ludwig mused aloud, to no one in particular. He was cleaning his pistol.

Gilbert didn't want to talk to his brother. He didn't answer his musings. But Feliks asked a question instead.

"Where are we _going_ , anyway?"

"Away," Gilbert answered, simply. "From Auschwitz."

"But we're _already_ away from Auschwitz," the Pole said. "We're so far, I don't even know what country we're in! It doesn't look like Poland anymore."

"We need to get farther away. From all of this."

"How far?" Feliks raised. Elizabeta and a reluctant Ludwig turned around as well to form a small circle. This was an interesting question. One with an answer that would affect them all.

"I don't know," Gilbert said quietly. "But we're not far enough yet."

Ludwig raised his chin. "We need a decisive answer. Other than the threat of slowly starving out in the forest or discovery we are stable. We need a strategic target to reach. No more mindless running," Ludwig stated.

"But where would we go?" Gilbert asked his brother. Feliks fixed Ludwig with his green eyes, mirroring Gilbert's question.

Much to their dismay, Ludwig only shrugged. "We're a band of traitors and enemies of the Reich in the middle of Nazi Europe," he stated. "Allies won't believe your story; they hardly want to admit to themselves that concentration camps even exist. I have absolutely no idea to whom we could turn to for assistance."

A chilled silence encompassed the ditch. It was one of helplessness. The fact that Ludwig was the one to admit this seemed to strike the blow the hardest. Despite his flaws, Gilbert recognized that his brother was the one with the intelligence to think his way out of things.

Elizabeta stirred despite the silence. She drew something into the bag of supplies. Her bronze curls of hair dripped down, veiling her face. "I know of somewhere we could go."

All eyes traced to the Hungarian, Gilbert's glittering with curiosity. He saw her pull one of the crumpled pieces of paper out of the bag. She creased it neatly in her hand and handed it wordlessly to Gilbert. He opened it carefully and unfolded it in front of his face.

He recognized it as the map he had taken from the farmhouse with a few other things. He expected it to be a map of the roadwork near to the house, but he instead recognized the thick red outline of the mountainous landlocked nation on the faded paper instead.

"Mein Gott. It's _Switzerland…"_ Gilbert voiced.

Feliks raised an eyebrow. "Why on Earth would the people in that farmhouse want a map of Switzerland?"

"It's the only genuinely neutral place in continental Europe," Elizabeta said. "I'm sure the farmers were thinking of running away to there, or maybe that's where they were planning on spiriting the Jews hidden in their barn away to."

"Neutral?" Ludwig scoffed. "Politically, perhaps. But their banks don't seem to have a problem being the dumping ground for the gold we took from the Jews." But it was obvious by his tone that Ludwig was giving the Switzerland proposition serious consideration.

"Who gives a damn what the banks do?" Gilbert countered.

"I heard there's thousands of Poles there!" Feliks squeaked excitedly. "When Poland like, lost, a bunch of our soldiers fled there! I have this one friend from Lithuania, I wond-"

"Feliks, do you know what they do with the refugees there?" The question flew out of Gilbert's mouth before he thought about it. He was shocked that he was actually asking _Feliks_ a question.

The Pole shrugged. "I heard something about sticking refugee people in abandoned Alps ski resorts cuz, duh, there's like, no ski tourists during a war. But I think eventually they just put them to work as farmhands or something kinda useful."

"Entering illegally is the best way," Ludwig said. "Our names on immigration records we may be traceable. Gilbert and myself are not exactly standard Wehrmacht soldiers, they won't let us in anyway."

"Switzerland seems like a good plan to me." Gilbert said. "They speak German there. Kinda. Better than anything else I can think of. Legal or not, I don't care."

"So Switzerland it is?" Elizabeta questioned.

"I'm in, of course!" Feliks piped. "Bring on the chocolate and Swiss cheese!"

"We try for Switzerland then." Ludwig said, his voice loud and low. But not quite low enough to disguise the audible smack of Feliks and Elizabeta's hands on each other.

* * *

Ludwig sat away from his brother, his broad back facing him as he stared out at the road. Gilbert had quickly grown bored of staring at the same pile of flattened asphalt for the past hour and looked out to the pine forest around him. More specifically the little black birds in the mist in the trees. He knew they would sense a car coming before he would and fly away. But eventually he traced his attention to Elizabeta and Feliks.

Feliks was tearing up grass and throwing it at Elizabeta.

 _Great._ He wished the Pole would be able to entertain himself in a way that wasn't so noisy, but decided it was better than the alternative of his energy exploding at a more crucial time. He placed his arms on his knees and stared out at the road, listening for any distant cars that would come rumbling by. But the seed of an idea formed in the fertile soil of his mind. He slid his dagger out of its scabbard and paced over to the nearest fir. Ludwig looked at him with a flicker of guarded approval.

Shoving the long knife as deep as he could into the soft white meat of the tree, Gilbert leaned his ear against the blade, thinking it would amplify the vibrations of any rumbling tires. He waited for a moment. He sensed Ludwig watching him out of the corners of his eyes with interest. He listened for about ten seconds more. Nothing.

Gilbert sighed, sat, and placed his elbows on his knees. Ludwig's pupils traced back out to the road in front of him, realizing that his older brother was unsuccessful in detecting anything. He might have rolled them. _You see that in a cowboy movie?_

Gilbert then felt something land on his face.

"WOOSH, like, GOT YOU!"

Feliks stood behind him, laughing in triumph, pointing a finger down at the squatting Gilbert. Elizabeta stood a bit behind the blonde too, placing a hand over her mouth as she snickered. Her green eyes were laced with apology, but not regret. They whispered a challenge. He removed his hat to find it, his hair, and his uniform were absolutely covered in bits of ripped up grass.

"You idiots _are dead!"_ Gilbert warned. But a feral grin pulled at the edges of his taught lips as he stared his newest foes down. In a fluid motion he had swept his knife back into his coat and was already on all fours and ripping up grass.

"Come an' get us then, ya big potato-eater!" Feliks taunted. He already had a tightly woven ball of ammunition in his palm, which he tossed threateningly up and down. Elizabeta grinned from behind Feliks, aware she was caught up in the Pole's antics as much as the Prussian was, but not quite willing to return to order. That was okay: Gilbert found he wasn't either.

"Alright, you've both chosen your fate." the Prussian said darkly, a wry smile cracking across his reddened cheeks.

"Bring it on, Sir Sauerkra-"

Feliks didn't get a chance to finish what he said. Gilbert had flicked a clump of needles in his face.

"Hey!" Feliks protested, spitting grass out of his mouth.

But Elizabeta was more clever. While basking in his victory, Elizabeta's soft footsteps resonated from behind him. He noticed a moment too late the Hungarian had collected enough green that she had to hold it against her breast. She grasped Gilbert's collar from behind and, opening it, shoved it ruthlessly down the back of his shirt.

"Hey!" Gilbert echoed. He stood up quickly and started brushing bits of grass, needles, and dirt out from his coat and glared at Elizabeta.

"Not so tough, _Mr-Potato-eater?"_ Elizabeta challenged.

Gilbert had roughly tore up a fistful of nearby needles and flung it at Elizabeta. She must have expected this for she dodged neatly to the side, lowering to the ground for more ammunition, not once breaking stride. But it was clear to Gilbert by the lack of protest that she wasn't anticipating it was cover for a new attack. As she ran at him, Gilbert didn't stop. He tackled her to the ground, flitting one gloved hand behind her back to mitigate the impact of her body and the earth. They rolled once, twice, but when they stopped it was Gilbert who was on top. His fingers curled around her upper arms expertly restraining her movement with his weight in a way only a soldier knew how to do. Their eyes met. They were both panting. Gilbert tasted her cool, almost pepperminty, breath on his face. "Checkmate."

Pressed against the cold roadside ditch, Elizabeta grinned up at him. "Oof. That wasn't very chivalrous."

"Who ever accused me of such?" Gilbert countered, his features graced with his standard shark grin.

Elizabeta cackled in concurrence and raised her free palms in surrender. Gilbert lessened his grip. "I never was much of a lady anyway." she said.

"How about we four go back to watching for cars now, yes?" Ludwig growled, his brows slanted low and judging over his eyes.

Gilbert straightened his shirt. "How many men do ya need to watch for autos," he grunted crossly, flipping his cap back on his head and fixing Ludwig with a heated glare. He stared out at the road again. Only this time it wasn't quite as boring because Elizabeta was sitting next to him. But the fact that there were no cars remained constant. Even if one did come by, it wasn't as if someone could miss it. They didn't need four sets of eyes watching for one thing.

After twenty minutes of waiting, Gilbert noticed a shifting in the grass across the road Ludwig noticed it too. A brown and gray rabbit paused in a clump of grass about ten meters away. Its pink nose twitched as it indulged itself in some late blooming autumn flowers. Clearly distracted, Gilbert flipped the pistol out of his coat and took aim. He closed one eye slowly pulled back the hammer and muffled the sound with his gloved thumb.

Ludwig beside him delicately lowered the barrel with his hand. Gilbert flinched hostily at the touch. Ludwig's pale blue eyes traced towards him and shook his blonde head slowly.

Gilbert scowled in answer, his pistol still raised at the unsuspecting creature.

"We may be confronted with far larger game in the near future," Ludwig clarified. _"Bipedal_ game."

Gilbert sighed. He had done it boredly, he supposed, and Ludwig was already thinking ahead. It was true that they had limited ammunition, their bullets would be better spent upon any actual human enemies they were likely to come across than animals. Gilbert drummed the barrel of his gun and shoved it back in his coat. Not like they would be able to hijack a car with a dead rabbit in their hands.

"Actually, we should go back and check the bodies. They must have nine millimeter rounds on them." Ludwig mused quietly.

"Uh, no!" Feliks cut in quickly. Gilbert hadn't realized the smaller blonde had been listening in. "Uh…." The Pole stalled as he tried to think of something, fixed under Ludwig's questioning bird-of-prey stare. His green eyes lit with recognition as he flipped his head to the left. "No need for that. Look! I hear a car coming!"

Ludwig looked quickly to the road, catching on the sound that Feliks had noticed first. The German rose quickly and ran up from the shallow ditch to the road, looked back from above him, and motioned sternly for his brother to come with him.

Placing the ideology feud away for the next few moments, Gilbert bolted up to the road. Their sidearms were simultaneously liberated of their holsters with an array of clinks. Much to the Prussian's surprise, Ludwig didn't stop on the edge of the road. He strided up to a halt right in the center of the pavement and scorched car's inhabitants through the windshield with his authoritative gaze. Gilbert ran up to stand at his side in the center of the road.

The aged black automobile sped towards them. Headlights gleamed out from the fog like white eyes from the metal beast, and through the windshield Gilbert noticed two forms serving as pupils in either of the front seats. It raced forward, closing the distance between men and machine rapidly. He heard it screech as the driver slammed on the breaks to stop the car for the two black-clad SS on the road. Gilbert ignored the instinct to back up. It was eighty meters away. Forty. Twenty. Ten. Five.

Steaming and ticking, the car ground to a stop before the two Germans. Gilbert noticed on the side of the road the observers stood up, Feliks took a step closer but Elizabeta wisely restrained him with a soft hand on his shoulder, leaving this task up to the soldiers. His attention was reaffixed as the side doors swung open.

Out from the car stepped two people. A male and a female. The boy wore a semi-formal dark gray suit. The girl was attired in a fitted forest green velvet dress. Young, each maybe twenty. Probably lovestruck teenagers running away from home.

"Officers… what is going on here?" the young man asked. His voice was tinged with fear. He tentatively raised his hands upon noticing the gleaming pistols that the soldiers held, although neither were raised at the two.

"They speak German…" Ludwig noted surprisedly. He wasn't likely to be as nasty to any German-speaking people as other ones.

Why, Gilbert thought laughably, at this point would they steal from a Pole or Czech, but not a German?

"Of course we speak German," the girl said confusedly. "You're in Niederösterreich."

Lower Austria? Had they really driven that far west? Crossed through the rest of Poland and all of Czechoslovakia, and into the northeastern edge of Austria? He had only guessed. Well, he supposed they had been moving thoroughly for several days.

Ludwig sighed. "I near wish Roderich were here, he would know his way around Austria."

The two from the car stared at them during all of this, eyes asking the question neither of the soldiers had yet bothered to answer.

"Sirs, is there a reason why you've stopped us?" the green-clad girl spoke up.

Ludwig stepped forward. "I am afraid we are in need of your vehicle." Gilbert noticed that his tone wasn't harsh. It was in fact genuinely sympathetic, but still authoritative.

"What?!" The unwelcome syllable exploded from the lungs of the two teenagers simultaneously, their hands dropping from their sides in shock.

"What do a couple of Schutzstaffel need with our car?" the male asked exasperatedly, instantly recognizing the black SS uniforms and the deathly Totenköpfe on their caps.

"Special military operations," Ludwig said. "If you give us your names and addresses the government will reimburse you the moment we can." A lie, of course.

"We would be happy to drive you two anywhere you would like to go…" the man trailed. It was clear that he was not pleased that his little outing with his girlfriend had been disturbed, but he favored driving the soldiers much more than the alternative.

"I am afraid that is not possible," Ludwig said evenly.

"I don't believe that! This car was a present from my father!" the girl objected. "I don't want you to take it!"

Ludwig sighed. "Please do not make this difficult. This is a military emergency and you have little choice in the matter. Cede your vehicle or I will be forced to take martial action." A hand strayed towards the holster on Ludwig's belt.

The girl seemed subdued with this, but they boy was not so lucky. Probably overrun by hormones and adrenaline, the male looked over to the side of the road and his expression contorted upon noticing Feliks and Elizabeta gawking. "Who are those people over there? Why are they wearing stripes? Are they convicts or something?"

Ludwig locked eyes with him, effectively immobilizing the boy from looking anywhere else but their icy blue depths. "Yes, they're convicts. We believe they were involved in a conspiracy against the German Reich. We are taking them into the city for questioning."

The boy was hesitant. "I don't understand why you couldn't just question them here."

Gilbert decided it was time to step in. "Kid! Enough of this, tell me your names! I'll have the Gestapo on your doorstep tomorrow morning!"

That did it. Terrified of the secret German police -Hitler's personal army of bodyguards- the boy stepped back. He fiddled with his belt and threw the keys on the ground. They landed with a clang and skidded along the smooth dirt. Ludwig stopped their passage underneath his boot.

"Yessir, please. Uh, take the car. And you don't have to bother remembering our names, you can have it free." the boy stammered. "Just don't tell the Gestapo anything. They city's not far… I guess we'll just walk to a payphone… or something." he gulped. Gilbert guessed that whatever city it was they were talking about was still several dozen kilometers away, but he did not feel any remorse. There wasn't another way for this to be done. In fact, another idea sprouted in his head. He took an aggressive step forward and flipped the pistol threateningly in his hand.

"Strip."

"What?" the girl squeaked.

"You heard me. Both of you: strip off your clothes. Keep your undergarments on." Gilbert commanded. He felt Ludwig fix him with a questioning stare, but it quickly dissipated as his brother caught on. "Put your clothes on the ground."

The boy's eyes widened. "I doubt this is military protocol. What on earth would you want with our clothes? Do you want us to walk into the next town half-dressed?!" he screeched.

Gilbert cocked his pistol threateningly. "Should I bother contacting some Gestapo when I get there?" he barked, "Or should I do their dirty work here?"

The look of horror plastered across the young faces as genuine. "I hear the Gestapo will send us to a work camp." the girl whispered urgently to her lover. Gilbert almost snorted. A work camp? The rumors this west in Europe must not be as bad as the real thing. They _wished_ anyplace the Gestapo would send someone was merely a 'work camp.'

The male traced his gaze towards Ludwig, perhaps hoping for some good-cop bad-cop routine. He didn't receive anything. "Do as told," Ludwig stated coldly.

"O-ohkay…"

Slowly, the boy and the girl started taking off their clothes. They threw them in a pile between the soldiers' feet. Ludwig looked away from the young woman, instead placing his cobalt gaze on their new car. It was everlastingly amusing to Gilbert that Ludwig was so coldhearted in his military uniform but was boyishly proper when too much of someone's skin was showing. Gilbert never found himself bothered by the indecency of nudity.

Finished, the boy stood up and crossed his arms against the cold wind. His white underwear fluttered around his bare legs. The girl, too, was only in her underwear and a brassiere. She crossed her arms and blushed in the presence of the boy. Or perhaps in front of him. "Is that all?" he asked. Gilbert wasn't sure if he stuttered because of the cold or because of the fear. Probably the former. It wasn't _that_ cold. He was confident of their survival.

"Yes, that is all the assistance we will be needing of you two. Thank you," Ludwig said. He bent to retrieve the pile of clothes and shoes.

"Uh…"

"You'd be best not to mention this when you get into town." Gilbert added, spinning the pistol in his hand.

They boy and girl nodded. Gilbert swept his arm out beside him in an almost polite way, motioning for the two young adults to go to the side of the road. Ludwig then climbed in the driver's seat of the car, shaking it slightly with his weight. He inserted the keys in the door, and leaving it open, cranked the Volkswagen to life. Gilbert fixed his face with a typical angry-soldier expression and glared over to the roadside ditch.

"Convicts! Back of the car!" he shrieked at Elizabeta and Feliks. He hoped they had heard enough of the conversation to figure out what was going on.

"Y-yessir!" Elizabeta squeaked, her voice laced with a horrifyingly convincing false fear. Elizabeta lowered her head and led Feliks out beside her up onto the wet road surface. They held their hands together in front of them like they were bound. Gilbert ushered them both into the backseat of the car and closed it roughly behind them. He tipped his hat at the shivering Austrian boy and girl, and himself went into the passenger's seat. He closed the door. Ludwig had already thrown the clothes and shoes into the back of the car.

"Quickly now," hissed Ludwig as Elizabeta and Feliks gathered up the clothing.

Ludwig twisted the clutch, stepped on the gas and the car shot jerkingly forward. Feliks held up the boy's clothes to his body, it was a close enough match, although the suit's dark-gray sleeves would be a little long. Elizabeta examined her clothes with mixed emotions. A heavy velvet forest-green dress, cut long and fitted lay across her lap. There also robed white coat that the Austrian girl had worn on top of it. It was a beautiful dress, though his only concern was if it would accentuate how thin she was. Ludwig's acceleration had evened and Gilbert looked out the window at the passing foliage while the ex-prisoners changed.

Feliks had finished. He looked at home in the reasonably fashionable attire. He struck a sultry pose in the backseat and smiled. "Hey Lizzie, I look like a million zloty or what?"

Elizabeta chuckled. "Those Austrian Mädels better watch out."

"Puh- _leeze."_ Feliks crooned, flipping his hand at the wrist and his hair behind his shoulder. "Girl, no stuffy Austrian old ladies could touch this." Much to Ludwig's horror, Feliks ran a palm along his posterior and thrusted his hips. Then he turned his head around, lips slightly parted, his eyes sparkling off somewhere neither of them could see like he was posing in front of a painter for a movie poster. Elizabeta erupted in a fit of laughter in response.

"But what should we like, do with the prisoner uniforms?" Feliks asked at the front of the car. He held the filthy striped clothing between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it was something he thought he would catch a disease from. A heavy silver something landed with a thud in the Pole's lap.

"Burn 'em." Gilbert said, after tossing him his lighter from the frontseat. A curious grin played across Feliks's face as he played with the switch. Gilbert also thought he heard a rapid whisper in Polish. Probably something that meant 'ohemgee, like, mega shiny!'

"There will be _no_ burning of articles of clothing in this car!" Ludwig asserted vociferously. "We will stop next time we pass a stream. We will wash up and try and make ourselves appear at least somewhat presentable before we reenter civilization. We shall dispose of your previous apparel _there_."

"I still wanna burn em when we get there," Gilbert heard Feliks whisper lowly to Elizabeta.


	31. Chapter 31

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

They had been driving for about an hour in the mountainous forest. The oblique sunlight was beginning to break through the gray clouds. She noticed a stretch of wooden beams taller than the trees arching across a distant hill as she looked out the window.

"Look," Elizabeta exclaimed. "Telegraph poles!" Or maybe they were telephone poles. Feliks leaned over her and pressed his face against the window.

She saw Ludwig look up from the road and nod approvingly. "We must be getting close," he noted. "They're pointed in the direction we're headed."

Where ever it was they were getting close to.

Feliks prodded her with his elbow. "Hey Liz, do ya like, know howta' weave baskets?"

"Baskets? Yes, I could weave a basket."

"Because we need to like, learn cool Switzy-people stuff. If we're going to make it in Switzerland," the Pole clarified.

"Maybe you could be a professional yodeler?" Gilbert snickered from the front. "I'll play the Alphorn. We can start a band."

"That's an amazing idea!" Feliks exclaimed. His face lit up with joy. He drummed his feet against the floor excitedly. "What should our band-name be? Oh, I'll be the lead yodeler, Elizabeta can keep us going by making Swiss chocolate, and I'm sure Ludwig has a totally cool singing voice if he'd just try-"

Ludwig snorted at this, the whispers of a smile curling on the edges of his lips. "You three? You would cause an avalanche, I'm sure." His hands were still on the wheel.

" _Us three?"_ Gilbert questioned, looking over to his brother. "Oh goodness dearie me, are you too cool to start a band with us, Mr. Beilschmidt?" Gilbert accused, his voice caked with more mock offense than make-up on an aging, overweight lady.

"No. I won't be staying with you three in Switzerland." Ludwig stated evenly, not taking his eyes off of the road.

"Wait… _what?"_ Gilbert asked, his previously facetious tone turned deadly serious. "Did I hear you right?" he continued. Elizabeta was confused too.

"Well, surely you did not think…?"

"You're not staying there with us?!" Gilbert blurted. "Why on Earth would you do that?"

"I'm not some migrant worker. I don't plan on mowing fields in Switzerland. My country needs me."

"This late in the war? If you went on the front lines now you'd be killed! Blown to bits!"

"Gilbert: when I entered the army I swore an oath. The very same one you did. I am happy to die for the Führer, just as thousands before me have and thousands after me will," Ludwig said.

"How would you even get back into the Wehrmacht anyway? This is ridiculous! You're marked as much of a traitor as I am, you'd be arrested!" Gilbert shrilled.

"I have a plan." Ludwig stated simply. "I doubt our betrayal is well known outside of the Auschwitz staff anyway."

"You're the most idiotic, lunatic-midget-worshipping _sheep_ I've ever met, but you're my brother and I won't let you throw your life away for something this stupid. You're staying with us in the Alps until the end of the war," declared Gilbert.

"Gilbert," the German started softly, "Some things are more important than the bond between brothers. It was a lesson that I failed to learn, but I have now. And hopefully you will too find a cause so important someday. But for now: I am going to get you, Elizabeta and Feliks off my hands to Switzerland. If your brain grows back in that time you are welcome to go back to war with me."

"Ludwig, you're being rash! I won't let you go." Gilbert protested.

"Gilbert, I haven't got anything to hold me back from war anymore. Certainly not you. My country is my highest bound. And right now it needs me more than ever."

"Ludwig," Gilbert pleaded, "I love Germany too. Just as much as you do. But killing a bunch of Jews isn't going to make anything better for our fatherland. Wait out the war. When it's done we'll go back and turn Germany into what it's supposed to be."

"We were nothing under the Weimar Republic! If we lose this war, we'll just be the Allies' little reparations pet again. I will _not_ let my good people suffer under that humiliation another time." Ludwig puffed, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I hate to inform you, but we _already_ lost this war."

Ludwig didn't respond. Any icy rage stretched between the two front seats. Elizabeta didn't feel she was close enough to Ludwig to justify stepping into the argument. And perhaps he was still sad about their band, but even Feliks didn't dare to break the silence either.

* * *

Elizabeta recognized the telltale smoggy haze of a city. The telegraph-phone poles became more numerous. Through the trees she noticed a gap, sunlight reflecting off of a surface parallel to her.

"I think I see a lake, over to the right," Elizabeta murmured.

Wordlessly, Ludwig pulled the car off of the road. It rumbled through the soft grass and mud and into the pine trees before they shortly became too thick. There was little undergrowth, but Elizabeta decided that the car's dark color would likely disguise it as long as no passersby on the road looked too closely into the shadows.

Before them was a small lake, bisected by a frozen brook which flowed out of it. Mossy evergreens veiled them from the road about fifty meters away. Lichen-speckled cliffs rose up on one side and swampy cattails and reeds grew from the other. Sunlight sparkled off from a sheet of ice on the far side of the lake. A few geese rose raucously out from the surface of the pond as the humans approached.

Feliks ran up to the surface of the pool, swinging their uniforms in one hand and Gilbert's lighter in the other. He shifted it to his left and reached down to touch the surface of the waves as they lapped against the shore. "It's _freezing!"_ the Pole exclaimed.

"Of course it's cold. It's probably snowmelt from the Alps." Gilbert said. "Be careful not to fall through the ice. You'll get hypothermia, and we haven't got a good way to warm you up."

Feliks carefully pranced away towards the pebbly shore and placed Gilbert's lighter down on a rock. Elizabeta paced towards the bank with Gilbert and Ludwig eventually followed. Feliks lightly tossed Elizabeta her old prison uniform, which she caught neatly, slightly confused. The Pole read this.

He dipped a corner of the raggedy stained cloth in the water and wrung it out slowly, as if in explanation. He pulled off the layers of his suit and cleaned his chest with his. He shivered once. Feliks hadn't been in Auschwitz as long, she realized he wasn't quite as thin as she was, although she could still clearly see the outline of his ribcage. But she was surprised to find underneath his clothes the Pole wasn't quite as scrawny as he looked.

Feliks smirked back at her, holding the cloth. "Hopefully I won't like, catch Typhus from it."

"If we didn't get it in camp I doubt we will now." She strode forward and did the same with her shirt, using it as a washcloth. She washed her face and ran it through her hair. She slid it through the V neck of the dress and down her back.

She felt Gilbert hovering behind her. "Gilbert, your uniform still has bloodstains on it," she noted. She realized a moment later it was probably his own.

"Oh…" He pulled of his outer coat off and placed it on the ground. In his white undershirt and black suspenders he knelt at the pond's surface and cupped some of the cold crystalline water in his hands. He looked handsome, with that damned Nazi coat off. He washed his face with wet hands and ran his fingers through his silvery hair. Ludwig calmly did the same.

" _Ludwig,"_ Gilbert smiled genuinely and looked over at his brother, but the light didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Nice day for a walk. Why don't you come with me?"

It didn't seem like a question. Ludwig looked back at him confusedly, she doubted that Gilbert was the one to frolic through the forest for fun. She had a feeling that this 'walk' wasn't as spontaneous a thought as the Prussian made it out to be. He had something in mind, the question, exactly; was what. She searched his eyes but he was turned away from her. Gilbert paced over to a lichen-speckeled boulder and laid down his pistol. He didn't look at her.

"Liz, would you mind getting the stains off my clothes while we're away? It doesn't have to be perfect."

"Sure," she drawled slowly. Usually this was when she would tell Gilbert to wash his own things, but she could tell he had something more important on his mind.

"Thank you."

Gilbert glanced at Ludwig and motioned with his chin towards the same boulder expectantly. The blonde seemed hesitant at first. Gilbert smiled at him reassuringly, and Ludwig in turn placed his pistol on the rock. She wasn't sure if they relinquished their weapons to protect herself and Feliks if something came up while the soldiers were away, or to protect the soldiers from each other. At that thought: Elizabeta was suddenly very relieved that she would be staying here.

"Well?" Gilbert prompted. "Don't keep me waiting all day." Gilbert looked to his wrist and drummed his fingers along it, even though she was positive he didn't have a watch anymore. Ludwig caught this as well and snorted amusedly.

"There's only two things in this world that scare me." Ludwig said. He was tidily folding his coat on a rock ledge to dry. "One: is a god-damned Russian." He turned around to face his brother, wearing his white undershirt and black suspenders.

"And two: is Feliks trying to seduce the backseat of a Volkswagen."

Ludwig turned around and marched astride his brother. Gilbert looked back at Feliks and Elizabeta and flashed a smile.

"We'll be right back," Gilbert said cheerily. He thumped his brother with his elbow.

"Right" Ludwig grunted. He clearly didn't have any idea what his mischievous older brother was up to. And he likely wasn't pleased about it.

"Bye guys! Luddy, I'll take that as an honor." Feliks gave the German a cheery thumbs-up. To which he crossed his arms and snorted in response "Feliks, I've _eaten_ things that could scare you." Ludwig replied.

"Bye Gil." Elizabeta said. _Be careful around him,_ she added silently.

Gilbert waved to her a final time and disappeared with Ludwig into the shadowy pine forest.

"Like, what was that about?" Feliks asked her, the moment the two tall silhouettes disappeared into the forest.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

The two Germans left the thawing pond behind them. The last time Gilbert had dragged Ludwig off alone claiming to need to 'talk' was roughly twelve years ago. When Gilbert had decided it was time to tell his brother about sex. Gilbert sensed a reluctance radiating off of his larger sibling. The blond likely knew what this was about. It was time to be converted to Gilbertism.

"Ludwig, can you tell me what you know about Buchenwald?" the Prussian asked after about a minute of walking along a deer path.

His brother seemed confused by this. Buchenwald? It was likely not the accusing anti-Nazi question he had been anticipating.

"Yes," the blonde started "Buchenwald: One of the first and largest concentration camps built on German soil. It was established in 1937 near Weimar. The main commandant was Karl Otto Koch. He was famous for building a bear pit across from the camp's main Appelplatz. In 1942 he was eventually himself imprisoned in the camp by his fellow SS, due to charges of embezzlement and incitement of murd-"

"There there my walking encyclopedia, that's enough." Gilbert cooed. "Yes. Herr Koch! Did you hear about his wife?"

"His… _wife?_ " Ludwig blanked. Ludwig cared nothing for the man's wife.

"Y'know. A wife? That womany thing that males of our species sometimes get?" Gilbert prompted.

"No. I did not hear anything about this man's wife," Ludwig stated superiorly.

Gilbert nodded expectantly at this. "Figures. Real pretty thing she was. Aryan. Blue eyes, long, blonde curls. ' _She wolf_ _of the SS'_ , they called 'er. See, rumors like this used to circulate like wildfire in my old crowd, although I'm sure you've accustomed your noble self to tune them out. Ilse Koch, this woman's name is."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ludwig butted in.

Gilbert paid his brother no mind and continued talking. "She lived at the Buchenwald camp with the commandant. It is said that she would wear this tight red sweater and short skirt and would prance around the guards and the prisoners. She also rode around on a horse, beating any inmates that caught her interest."

"Such behavior is rather unbecoming of a female," Ludwig stated.

"They called her the _'Witch of Buchenwald.'_ Do you have any idea why?" Gilbert asked, locking his cunningly glittering garnet eyes with Ludwig's younger, perplexed sapphire ones.

"No. I do not know why she has such a title. Other than being promiscuous and going around beating Jews on a horse, I suppose."

"Lotsa' things. Terrible things," Gilbert baited with poise, still walking along, eyes ahead.

"Like what?" Ludwig responded gruffly.

"She had a handbag made of human flesh. Her extreme pride in it was rather disturbing. A few jars full of pickeled human organs. She would also ride through the camp and select prisoners with tattoos or skin markings that she found interesting. She would then order these individuals killed and their skins tanned. Then she would use this … _leather_ to make lampshades and other household items."

Ludwig kept walking ahead. Gilbert couldn't see his expression.

"A lampshade made of human skin," Gilbert reiterated. "Made by some sadistic little whore."

_"Jew_ skin." Ludwig eventually corrected.

"Does this not disturb you?" Gilbert pressed, his smile cracking, just a tiny, immeasurable, bit.

"I suppose it is rather immoral. But I don't see a big difference in this versus, say, a normal lampshade made from a cow's skin," the blond said.

"The fuck do you mean, you don't see a god-damned difference!" Gilbert screamed, rounding on his brother. His knowing composure had broken.

"Humans have been tanning leather for millennia, and although I agree it is a rather ghastly chemical process; it's not something to get worked up abou-"

"That's not what I meant!" Gilbert hissed.

"What did you mean then?" Ludwig asked. The plainness in his voice all but stabbed Gilbert in his cold heart.

"Oh God…. It's not even your own damned fault. You don't know any better!"

"Gilbert, my brother, I know my world just fine. I understand you love Elizabeta, but you shouldn't try to force your beliefs on to me." Ludwig said. His voice was soft, but his words were firm.

"Do what you want with your life. But if you're so confident that you want to be a good little toy soldier and go back to war I'm not gonna let you die still believing in this Nazi horseshit."

" _Gilbert,"_ Ludwig warned.

"It's my fault. I should have protected you from this back when we were younger. I should have known better. Ludwig…I'm so sorry."

"No fifteen year old kid should try and take responsibility for what he has no control over." Ludwig said warningly. "I do not regret what I am and neither should you."

"I should have stepped up. Mother was useless. And it's not like Father was around to take responsibility for us boys then," Gilbert noticed his slip of the tongue a fraction too late.

"That's enough!" Ludwig burst out, his voice suddenly tinged with a different emotion at the mention of their father. This one was not so innocent.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Gilbert backtracked.

"You're ruthless, to bring Father up. You know that?" Ludwig retorted.

"Ludwig, they deceived you. You know that. What you did to Father wasn't your fault back then. But now you _do_ have a choice in the matter. Of who you want to be." Gilbert stated, his tone ringing with calm conviction.

"I am precisely who I want to be. I am what the _world_ should be."

"Would Father be proud of who you are?"

"It matters not what he thinks: he's dead. I loved our father. But what he did was wrong according to the state," Ludwig said. Gilbert couldn't see the man's face

"Yes, according to the state. But do you think he deserved his _punishment?_ " Gilbert pressed.

"I'm not answering that!" Ludwig barked. He was absolutely livid. Gilbert was suddenly very pleased that he had the foresight to leave their weapons back at the pond with Elizabeta and Feliks. Gilbert found he was without a snappy response. And even if he had one, he wasn't sure it was wise to use it.

"You look just like him, you know…. Minus the hair, his was even longer," the Prussian said after a moment of icy silence. He exhaled airily, stopped walking and sat down on a fallen log. This was unproductive. He placed his elbows on his knees and covered his eyes with his fingers. They were bare. He had left his gloves back at the lake. He wished he hadn't brought Ludwig out here to talk. To scare him straight. It had only furthered the rift of trust they had with each other. Ludwig probably didn't want anything to do with him now.

"I look like him?"

Gilbert peeked his eyes out from the gaps in his white fingers. For a brief second, there wasn't a bloodthirsty anti-Semite standing in front of him. It was a young boy with big, blue eyes.

"Yeah. You do," the elder answered.

"I kind of had been forgetting what he looked like." Ludwig said, sitting down on the log.

"You were young. It's not your fault."

Ludwig didn't answer.

"Just look into a mirror. You'll see th'old man every time." Gilbert said, smiling slightly.

Ludwig nodded morosely. "Ja…"

"What do you say we go back now?" Gilbert proposed. He stood up and put a bare hand on his taller brother's shoulder.

"It would be a shame if Elizabeta and Feliks got eaten by bears while we were away." Ludwig noted.

"Don't worry. I'd bet Eliza is pretty good with a gun if she needs to be. And if that doesn't work Feliks can give his scariest lapdance and I'm sure they'd run away."

Ludwig glared at him. It wasn't a lot. It sure wasn't progress. But it _was_ honesty.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"Liz, you ready?" the voice belonged to her favorite Pole, breaking her away from her reverie. She had been sitting on the rock next to the Germans' guns, her knees curled up around her side. She had spread Gilbert's cleaned coat on the rock next to her, hoping the hard surface coupled with the sun would dry it a bit more. Feliks held the lighter in one hand and their drying uniforms in the other.

Elizabeta slid from the boulder. Feliks dropped their striped uniforms on the ground. A strange, almost ceremonial silence encompassed them. A cold wind blew, sending their long hair streaming out into the air.

"They're still damp." Elizabeta noted softly, breaking the silence.

Feliks shrugged at this. He held Gilbert's lighter softly in his hand and opened it. He carefully drizzled about half of the butane onto the raggedy cloth, its sharp scent filling the air.

"Feliks, it's easy to say you're just a goofy kid. But you're pretty resourceful, you know that?"

The Pole blushed at the compliment and smiled earnestly. "I guess I've gotta be, to have made it this far." he voiced with a modest grin. "Everyone else I know is dead."

He knelt down next to the clothing and looked up at Elizabeta. She nodded firmly, and with a flick of his thumb Feliks set the blue stripes ablaze with red. Flaming tongues licked across the fabric, indiscriminately crossing the separate articles to devour all four. The firelight reflected in their green eyes, and the two ex-prisoners, transfixed, watched their pasts burn.

And when the flames eventually stopped, she had to admit, she wished the symbols had blazed a little hotter.

Wordlessly, Feliks crouched down and scooped a handful of the warm gray ashes. Elizabeta did the same. They paced to the lake, scuffing the rest of the pile with their shoes as they walked over. The two halted on the edge of the pebbly shore and, taking a short step back, scattered them through the air and into the water. The gray flakes floated dry on the waves for a moment, until they too, disappeared forever.

"żegnaj." Feliks whispered.

"Viszlát," Elizabeta repeated. _Goodbye._

There was quiet for about a minute. Then the crunching of leaves underfoot broke the ceremonial silence. She looked up to see two tall dark silhouettes marching out from the forest.

"Welcome back," Feliks greeted, his previously uncanny seriousness evaporating. Elizabeta leaned back on a boulder. Gilbert and Ludwig had returned. And if she could tell anything by the way they still walked two meters apart, she guessed Ludwig's and Gilbert's relation hadn't improved much. Ludwig retrieved his pistol and walked to the lake edge.

Gilbert sighed and sat down next to her. It was a long sigh, full of remorse and sorrow, like the echo of a wolf's howl on the cold, winter hills. She felt disappointment radiating off of him. Wordlessly she wrapped her comforting arms around his shoulders. He loosened, if not slightly.

"Liz, mind if I ask ya something?" he breathed.

"Of course not. Shoot."

"When you first met me, did you think there was such thing as a good Nazi?" he asked. His voice was pleading, like he was hoping desperately for a certain answer. She was quiet for a moment. She loved him too much to comfort him with a lie.

"Gilbert, you understand why I was originally sent to the camps, right? Political dissension. I was never a fan of the Nazis. I won't have an unbiased answer."

"So? You're all I've got. Yes or no?" he pressed.

"No." she stated. "There was no such thing as a good Nazi then."

He caught hopefully on her last word. "And what about now?"

"That has a more complicated answer." she said.

"We've got time."

"Gilbert…. when I woke up in your room that day after I was gassed; the first person I saw was Ludwig. He had his nose in that damned little red book. I was afraid. Yet when I saw he was willing to risk his neck for you by saving me, I knew he had something special. This was reinforced when he busted us out of prison. But it seemed he really showed his true colors when you opposed him _directly_ when you tried to save those Jews. That's when the rift between you two started. He feels abandoned by the only person he thought cared about him. Who he cared about in turn. And you've turned his world upside down," she revealed.

A silence radiated from him.

"What about when _I_ was a Nazi?" Gilbert asked, finally.

"When I fell in love with you, you weren't a 'good' Nazi. I had already drawn the line that you weren't one of them. No true Nazi could fall in love with a prisoner and escape with them. And I wouldn't be able to love a Nazi back."

"You think there's hope for him, then?" Gilbert surmised.

"There was hope for you," she remarked with a smile. "What makes him different?"

"He was younger. I at least understood right from wrong, I just didn't care. Ludwig thinks what he's doing _is_ right."

* * *

Forests evolved into farms, which evolved into suburbs, which soon enough was a city. The architecture was marvelous. She recognized instantaneously what city it was; there was only one within a hundred kilometers that looked quite like this. Patinad fountains launched arcs of water, buildings were made of white marble, and magnificent sculptures of gods and legends danced across the parapets of these constructions.

"Vienna," Ludwig noted aloud. "The capitol of Austria."

But as they drove into the city, safely disguised in with a multitude of other cars, she saw what looked like a modern-day castle on the horizon.

"Gil, what is that?" she said, pointing to the tall cement fortress.

"Flak tower. We use them to mount artillery and shoot down bomber planes," Gilbert responded, glancing up at it disinterestly as a bored tourist would. He had probably seen dozens before.

The columns on some of the white buildings remained adorned with festive red Christmas ribbons. But she noticed an uncanny amount of people on the street, even for a holiday. Many were sitting down on the muddy sidewalks. Even though they seemed cheery, she quickly realized why. It seemed there weren't enough of those Flak towers to go around.

"Hell, this place is bombed to shit!" Gilbert exclaimed. "There's homeless people everywhere!"

"The Brits and Americans have been bombing here since March, I believe. When they took the Italian peninsula," Ludwig said from the passenger's seat, frowning.

Elizabeta regarded the occasional patches of destroyed buildings around her with awe. She hadn't seen such real buildings in months. The allies had begun to bomb Budapest, and it looked eerily similar. It was a foreign chapter of her life, before Auschwitz, and she found the reminiscent jab of crumbling Vienna shocking.

"What are we gonna do here?" Feliks asked.

"Me? Well the first thing I'm gonna do when we get settled is buy some smokes and a drink," Gilbert said.

Ludwig looked over. "Don't forget the hundred marks you owe me. The American was very much indeed alive."

"He ain't now," Gilbert huffed.

They parked the car along the road and stepped onto the gray concrete Viennese sidewalks. Elizabeta shifted nervously. People in military garb passed by along with the cheery Austrian citizens through the streets. Some had the black SS suits that Gilbert and Ludwig wore. All of the suits had minor differences in the stripes or runes on their collar patches, symbolizing ranks that she couldn't decipher. Although she was sure Ludwig and Gilbert could with a simple glance. She only hoped that they were higher ranking then most of the others. It would allow them to get out of questions they might not be inclined to answer. Whether the soldiers they passed were on duty in the city or on leave, most of them, she couldn't tell.

She felt Ludwig approach Gilbert behind her.

"How are we going to walk with them without looking suspicious?" Ludwig asked quickly, his tone laced with urgency. A hot wave of self-consciousness washed over her. Suspicious? She sure didn't feel at ease with all of those people around. Foreigners within Nazi Germany were rare, she knew her German was not without a slight accent, and Feliks' German was far worse. Her periods had stopped and her usually full breasts were roughly the size that they were when she was thirteen. But certainly she did not visually appear too out of place. Well, it was true that most of the other soldiers in the streets were in small groups. Most weren't accompanied by people in civilian dress with them.

"If Feliks even opens his mouth we're going to look like some _very_ unprofessional soldiers," Ludwig whispered to his brother. SS didn't hang out with goofy teens with long hair and slavic accents. Right, that made more sense.

"We'll just pretend they're…. _y'know."_ Gilbert said, heavily emphasizing his last word.

"What about Feliks?" Ludwig gasped.

"As a last resort. You know how it works in the army, some don't care. Follow my lead." Gilbert stated.

_Pretend we're what?_ Elizabeta thought. But she did not want to ask.

They kept walking. The streets were busy, and it was hard for the four people to walk abreast. People pushed by them. Civilians gave the two black-suited males a fearfully respectful berth. A few other German military looking people in green, gray, or navy collared suits with buttons up the center also passed by in the holiday crowds. She felt Gilbert pace up between her and Feliks and threw a heavy arm around her shoulder. "Lemme fill you two in about all of these military personnel." The Prussian said.

"Please do." Elizabeta sighed. "I'm about as lost as I can get. Are any of them dangerous?" she whispered.

"Anyone who recognizes is us a threat. Now, me and Lud are SS. _Schutzstaffel._ I dunno if you noticed this or not, but the other soldiers we pass don't seem to like us much."

She hadn't noticed anything until he pointed it out. Someone in a blue suit glared at Gilbert as if he was something on the bottom of his shoe. Wouldn't the soldiers all be friendly to each other? They were all on the same side after all, weren't they?

"I'm gonna be honest." Gilbert started. He spoke quietly, but his tone didn't reveal that he was talking to anyone or of anything out of the orthodox. The city people didn't bother to listen in as they passed by. "Everyone knows what SS do. Not the horrifying details of it, but the basics. You wanna bring honor to your family? You sign up for the Luftwaffe. Air force." He discreetly jerked his thumb at two young men in a gray military suits as they passed them.

"'Course, this late in, most of the Luftwaffe pilots are pretty young kids…" he didn't clarify this, but he seemed reasonably saddened for Gilbert.

"So yeah. You sign up for the SS because you're a grown-up twisted school bully on a powertrip who wants to get paid to beat up on people who can't fight back. Even the rest of the army knows we're skum. Useful for the thousand-year plan, but twisted bastards nonetheless." he said. His voice was light, he clearly didn't think of himself as an SS anymore. Although his words raised the question to her why Gilbert and Ludwig had joined the SS in the first place. But she wisely held her tongue.

Gilbert gestured to another young man, not looking up. "Kriegsmarine. Navy. Those are the guys in the dark blue. We're landlocked, so any of those you see here are on leave or the Danube." She and Feliks nodded.

"Guy there? In the green-gray? That's the Heer. Army landforces."

"I thought that was the Wehrmacht?" Feliks asked. She was relieved to hear that it was a fairly reasonable question.

"That's all three of the branches together." the Prussian clarified, pressing his thumb index and middle finger together. "SS don't count as a part of it."

"Oh." The Pole said simply.

"If some of them are on leave, why do they still wear their uniforms?" Elizabeta asked, glancing warily at a passing Luftwaffe pilot in gray. She realized he was probably only about sixteen.

"They don't really have anything else to wear." Gilbert said. "Plus, I know from experience it's a good way to score free drinks, girls, and smokes." he added with good cheer, his tone not exactly guilty. A large crowd of five SS turned the corner of a white marble-clad building. Gilbert straightened visibly at this, his expression fiercening with nervousness. That countenance was a strange one to see on his pale, usually arrogant face. Even more vexing was the fact was he was looking right at her.

"This ain't gonna work." Gilbert huffed. He was suddenly in front of Elizabeta, messing up her hair.

"Gilbert –Ow! What are you doing?" she protested.

"I apologize, but I can't say I'm regretful," the Prussian said with a cryptic grin. He continued pulling at her hair, tangling the frail coppery waves with his imprecise, rectangular shaped, soldier's fingers.

"Gil-!"

"Hold still. Wear your hair like this." He pushed it back behind her head, destroying her standard part down the middle. He tosseled it roughly so the brown curls parted on the front three quarters over the side in a promiscuous way.

"And the coat. Take it off your shoulders. But keep it around your back so it covers your forearms." He fixed the garment as he explained, Elizabeta still thoroughly confused. The cold winter wind bit cruelly at the exposed skin of her upper back and shoulders.

"There. That'll do." he stated.

"Well I sure hope so!" A snarl curled around the edges of her lips.

She was cut off by a loud wolf's whistle.

"Hey soldier! Where'd you find her?" It was one of the SS coming around the corner. He had two other black-clad soldiers on either side. She felt her blood run cold. He was staring right at her.

"Oh, this little thing?" Gilbert said, tosseling her hair again. He grinned coyly at her, then back at the SS. Ludwig stared at the stranger fiercely from Gilbert's side, trying to intimidate the lead of the gaggle of other SS away. But the man didn't seem to pay any mind. "Just picked 'er up from the rubble." Gilbert said with a nonchalant shrug.

"I don't s'pose you'd be willing to share? It is Christmas, is it not?" the SS said, smiling.

…Share? _me?_

"My little Goddess?" Gilbert questioned, squinting at her licentiosly, and throwing and arm possessively around her chest. He almost crushed the air from her ribcage. He wasn't gentle. She felt a sharp protest rising through her throat and rolling over her sharp tongue but she forced her mouth shut. "Nah." he said.

"Oh have a heart, will ya? For me and my men?" the SS pleaded, gesturing to the four men around him. He had tanned skin, gelled blonde hair, and fierce brown eyes. He smiled deeply into her green pupils, crow's feet stretching around his eyes. But the smile's light didn't quite reach them. The eyes remained darker. Sinister. "Want to spend time with some real men, Miss?"

"She's _mine."_ Gilbert growled.

"Fine then. Better tip the lass well then, you two." The SS said, in an almost sing-song voice. A cruel smile graced his lips. "It is Christmas, after all."

_Tip me?_ She realized with a shock what Gilbert had made her appear to be. Any other type of civilian female hanging out with a couple of SS would arouse suspicion.

"Ja, we'll be on our way." Gilbert said darkly. He pulled her roughly closer. She glanced at the stripes on the offending man's collar. The patch bore the standard SS sig runes on his right that Gilbert and Ludwig both had. Except on his left, instead of the two silver bars that Gilbert had, the man displayed two sets of thin, embroidered double bars. She wondered what rank he was. But she assumed it was slightly higher than Gilbert.

"Oh, _Sturmman_ , what happened to your armband?" the SS said.

Her eyes widened. She had forgotten all about that! Gilbert had removed it back at the prison. Ludwig stepped forward, speaking for the first time.

"A bullet ripped through it in a fight with the Czech underground, _Rottenführer."_ the blonde spoke the rank slowly, in the same patronizing tone the brown-eyed blonde had primarily used on his elder brother. "He couldn't bear to have the symbol so disgraced, so he removed it. He's having it replaced."

But not higher than Ludwig.

"Ah…" the SS said, glancing once to the two silver squares on Ludwig's left collar patch. He took a respectful step backwards as was custom, but he did not stop looking boldly into Ludwig's eyes.

"Enough, have some respect for a fellow officer." A second man stepped forward. He was older than the others in the group, perhaps in his fifties.

"Yes, Oberscharführer Braun." the SS that had approached her said, not quite so obediently. He said the rank sarcastically. She bet that the two SS knew each other and weren't so formal with each other besides their ranks.

"Is this true?" The older man asked, looking at Gilbert.

"Yes," the Prussian replied hastily.

"Ah. Good. Get right on that, Sturmmann _...?"_

"Beilschmidt." Ludwig answered for the both of them, although she doubted he was pleased to have to inform anyone of their names. "Both of us. We're brothers."

"Beilschmidt? Either of you wouldn't happen to be Ludwig Beilschmidt from Berlin, would you?"

"That is I, Oberscharführer." The blonde said staidly. She was suddenly nervous. The man didn't recognize them, did he? No way he could!

He placed a hand evenly on Ludwig's shoulder. "Good work, lad. I've heard of you, the Hitler Youth article in _Reich_. Quite an impressive record -a Scharführer now- for one so young! Keep up the fine work."

"Yessir." Ludwig said. His well muscled arm raised out in front of him in salute. She looked into his blue eyes and saw no reticence.

"We'll be on our way now. You two enjoy your holiday." The SS squad leader said with a wave. He motioned with his hand and the three other soldiers disappeared with him.

One of them winked at Feliks as he passed. The smaller blonde straightened fearfully at this. She sent her Polish friend a comforting glance after the SS disappeared behind him. The four walked forwards in silence for several moments.

"A typical example of the scum SS are," Gilbert eventually breathed, once they were out of earshot.

"The old one was reasonable," Ludwig said, frowning.

"He still woulda shot Liz and Feel with the rest of 'em."

Eliza remained quiet, still reasonably embarrassed, and verbally ignoring the last two lines of their conversation. But they hadn't been found out yet. And she wasn't complaining.

"Regardless, I think we should keep any further interaction with humanity to a minimum," Ludwig suggested.

Gilbert nodded. "Let's find somewhere to sell our silver and get the hell out of here."

Elizabeta noticed the affluence of the town steadily descend as they walked. The clean, magnificently carved gray marble Viennese edifices gave away to gray cement and glass storefronts. There were noticeably less soldiers walking around, although she did see some going in and out of one of the area's plethora of taverns.

"Dangerous part of town," Elizabeta noted aloud. It would be nice if she had a frying pan or something to defend herself with, dressed like this who knew what dregs of humanity would approach her. She raised her chin confidently, a facade she perfected whenever unconfident, but felt herself inching closer to Gilbert. Passing civilians still gave him a wide berth.

"We're a dangerous crowd of folks," Gilbert answered simply. He didn't seem uncomfortable. Neither did Ludwig, although the massive Teuton rarely did in the face of an actual threat.

"Look. See there?" Gilbert pointed with one hand towards a dingy storefront. A hand painted sign in the window read that they would buy jewelry.

A bell chimed as Gilbert swung the door open. The four filed into the small storefront. The sweetly acrid scent of tobacco smoke filled the air. There was a record playing softly in the background of the shop. She didn't recognize the language, perhaps it was a distant dialect of German. It was a diminutive and overcrowded place, but remained surprisingly neat and polished. Various items and framed artworks tessellated across the neutral walls. A vase of fresh-cut tulips rested on the countertop.

"Hello?" Elizabeta called into the empty shopspace.

A foreign looking man paced out from the backroom. He was young and handsome, too tall for a Bavarian, with long blonde hair that stuck up straight on his head. She wondered briefly if he styled it that way on purpose. A blue and white striped scarf adorned his throat even though he was inside, and a pipe stuck out from his mouth. He had the same narrow emerald eyes that Feliks had. But unlike her little Polish friend, this appeared to be a man of few words.

"Hallo." the man greeted curtly. He blew out a puff from the pipe. Elizabeta noticed now that the voice was layered with a thick, low-saxon, likely even Dutch accent. All the way from the North Sea? What was he doing here?

Rather than answer the greeting, Ludwig picked the bag up in his arms and displayed its contents against the glass countertop. Various rings, watches, among other valuable things were displayed in black velvet underneath the glass counter. The stolen chains of precious metal jewelry spilled out, and the German removed the sterling silver candle holder with his left hand from the bag, which he handed back to Feliks. The northerner standing behind the counter seemed quite pleased.

"What you want to do? Pawn or sell?" the man asked.

"Sell it all and be on our way." Ludwig grunted.

The Dutchman picked up one of the pieces of jewelry in his gloved hand. He examined a diamond in it with an old jeweler's loop, his face not betraying anything. He then placed the lens back on the countertop. He lifted a gold chain to his mouth and bit into it. The metal was soft and bent. "They're real. What you want?"

"Ninety marks." Ludwig said.

"Fifty-five." The Dutchman replied. He took another drag from the pipe.

"We're in a war. Precious metal is in high demand. You'll sell it for a lot more than this. We'll have seventy-five." Gilbert demanded.

"Every Jew, criminal, and communist in town already sold their jewelry. You SS probably stole it all anyway," the darker blonde said.

"How dare you! Our grandmother just died!" Gilbert barked indignantly.

_How did he know?_ Elizabeta thought with a laugh. _But the important thing is that he doesn't seem to care._

"Sixty marks is as high as I go. You don't like that, you go somewhere else."

She saw Gilbert look over to Ludwig with eyebrows raised. The blonde shrugged his approval. It wasn't like they had time to waste looking around for another price. She wasn't entirely sure how the Reichsmark currency worked anyway. If the Dutchman had jipped them too obviously she was fairly confident that the two armed soldiers would have come to a less peaceful solution. SS had their reputation to look after, after all.

"Fine, we'll take it." Gilbert said. The shop owner stuck out his hand. Gilbert shook it firmly, then Ludwig, and eyed the blond Netherlander sternly as he reached into the register and withdrew six ten Reichsmark notes. He unclosed his fist over the paper, which Ludwig quickly took.

"Nice doin' business with you." the Dutchman said brusquely.

"Bye!" Feliks squeaked.

"Vaarwel."

Elizabeta nodded at the foreign blonde in farewell. She felt more confident, now that they had cash. They wouldn't have to ration out a few cans of vegetables to survive. The narrow sidewalk was busy and bustling with people as the quartet filed out of the shady pawnshop and onto the street. Two young boys singing Christmas carols ran by her, clutching hard Lebkuchen hearts in their small gloved hands.

"We'll find somewhere to stay for the rest of the day." Ludwig said. "We'll see how much farther west we can get tomorrow."

"Translation: cheap-as-fuck Gasthaus." Gilbert added with a sly grin.

"Great." Elizabeta chuckled "I'll happily take any shady inn over any place I've slept in the last two months."

She waited for someone to agree with her, but then she realized that none of them had been on the receiving end of the camp for as long as she had. She wasn't sure how long Feliks had been hiding around in the towns. Ludwig hadn't even at all.

The four walked along the wide sidewalks, people parting around them and occasionally bumping into her. But like a water droplet in flour the four still seemed reluctant to separate. She assumed some of the near collisions by the young men were on purpose, although the black SS uniforms Gilbert and Ludwig wore generally allowed her a wide berth. Another person bumped into her. He held a briefcase in one gloved hand. He was dressed like an Austrian politician, with the gray wool suit with a dark green collar. The offending man had blackish hair and cool-colored, bespectacled eyes.

"Pardon me, madam," he said automatically.

"It's alright," Eliza muttered, already stepping around him.

But the man stopped suddenly. He removed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his eyes and fixed her with his gaze. She realized then that they weren't just 'cool-colored.'

"Elizabeta Héderváry?"

They were violet.


	32. Chapter 32

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert's pistol was drawn before his conscious had made the command. He ushered Elizabeta and Feliks behind him.

"Gilbert? Ludwig?"

And when he did realize it he did not choose to reel his instincts back in.

He waited for Roderich to display any sort of primitive justification for an attack. For him to scream. To take a step back. Or display his palms. For his nostrils to flare in fear and those smooth lips to curl ever so slightly over his teeth. Some sort of body language signal –that Gilbert's eyes couldn't recognize without that little part of his brain that was still an animal figuring out what it meant- to justify what he was about to do next.

The shock on the Austrian's face was there, gawking back at his reflection staring down the barrel of his own gun. Gilbert relished in it. But that tiny little flinch never came.

And so, for a fraction of a second, the two enemies stared off. Waiting for one to make the minuscule mistake that would signal the white Viennese streets to be splattered crimson in their own blood.

Before Ludwig powerfully pushed Gilbert's arms behind his back.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert shrieked, betrayed, as his stronger brother restrained him. Ludwig twisted his wrist so the gun was pointed parallel to Gilbert's back. He writhed, but found little slack in his larger brother's vicelike grip. "Let me go!"

"Gilbert, listen to me!" Ludwig commanded. He held Gilbert captive until his thrashing ceased, but did not strike him.

"Look what he's _wearing!_ What he's _holding."_ Ludwig reasoned.

_Who gives a damn what he's got on him? It's the person that matters. And it's the very same person who would have shot us for escaping not even a week ago!_ Gilbert thought. But he knew better than to waste his oxygen on actual words.

Panting, Gilbert discontinued struggling for his gun -which was really Roderich's gun- and looked the man in question over. He wore civilian clothing, a gray wool trachten suit that would be difficult to move in. The 500-mark kind. Not the trim midnight black SS uniform, or even a nondescript civilian outfit someone would wear if they were undercover. In his right hand was a long black case. After a moment he recognized the curving shape and chrome buckles as casing for a violin. Roderich stared at the two quarrelling Germans with awe and fear. Also at the Hungarian girl and Polish boy who stared out at him from behind their menacing silhouettes. The Austrian took a measured step back. Gilbert felt his index finger twitch, although painfully aware that the trigger was no longer in his grasp.

"He's in civilian clothes." Ludwig said, releasing his brother.

"The fuck should I care." Gilbert grumbled, dusting off his uniform with his free hand. But his rough tone had softened, rising with a slight understanding. Roderich was nearly wearing Tracht. Traditional clothing. The dark gray wool buttoned suit with green lapels and trim that Austrians maybe wore a hundred years ago. Or maybe today at Oktoberfest, though at least he had the good sense to leave the leather pants at home.

"These circumstances are unusual. Let's have him explain himself. If we don't like it: then we'll kill him." Ludwig's blue eyes traced back out to Roderich. Feliks and Elizabeta stepped out from behind the soldiers. Although Roderich still seemed reasonably unnerved by the second part of Ludwig's ultimatum.

Gilbert motioned with his finger, and led Roderich into an abandoned alleyway at discreet gunpoint. No need for any civilians to hear what was about to be said. Afternoon light filtered between the tall buildings into the dark alley. Gilbert guessed it was probably about 16:30. Ludwig, Elizabeta, and Feliks followed behind him.

"So?" Gilbert puffed, taking a step forward. "Care to explain what in the seven hells you're doing here, Roddy?"

"One: my name is not 'Roddy'. Two: I live here. And three: I could ask you the same." Roderich replied curtly, gaining his composure. He stood ramrod straight, not willing to show submission before the Prussian. Although his face was still white from having a gun pointed at him.

"I mean why you're not in Auschwitz right now. Or two meters underground. Or a pile of ash." Gilbert pressed.

Roderich looked to the side. "I would rather not say," the Austrian denoted softly, but proudly.

"You haven't a choice in the matter. Trust me: _right now_ , talking is your friend."

"Fine. You really want to know?" Roderich inquired, still eying the Germans and their companions warily.

"I don't think we just let you live so you could not explain why you weren't executed for your failure in incarcerating Eliza and me."

_"_ Dishonorable discharge." Roderich said simply.

"You bastard, I know good men who would kill to be let home, and they give it to you?"

"The Auschwitz staff –the commandant himself, actually- was quite displeased with my _failure._ So they stripped me of my job, my rank, and told me if I was there in the morning they would put me up against a firing squad. A ridiculous punishment, for such a small failure for a loyal officer. But I am glad that they have."

Gilbert squinted suspiciously. Roderich was very lucky just to get off with that. One did not often fail the SS and live long enough to mend his ways.

"Why couldn't you just be undercover and sent to track us down?" Gilbert accused, taking a step forward.

"How the hell would I know to find you in my own home city?"

"Why did you say you were glad they fired you?" Gilbert questioned.

"This war is ludicrous." Roderich said with a sophisticated shrug. "At least now I can focus on the _real_ evolution of the human species. Through culture." The Austrian thumped the violin case softly against his thigh, as if in proof. "Not this eugenics nonsense."

Gilbert looked to his former enemy with a glint of respect in his eyes. Roderich had figured it out, and Gilbert cautiously believed him. But another voice rang ominously through the city air.

"Don't tell me this deserter talk got to you too."

Ludwig. Of course.

Roderich raised an eyebrow. "Ludwig, you weren't against it from the start when you busted these three out?"

"No, I never was against the Führer. But it was my duty as a brother to save Gilbert. Then, blood came first."

"What a shame…. You are quite intelligent underneath all of that deceiving bulk. But as mortals I suppose we all have our flaws. Yours is to believe what people tell you." Roderich said.

"Oi! Don't give up on him, we can still fix him!" Gilbert shouted.

"I'm no broken toy, Gilbert." Ludwig responded calmly, with a sideways glance at his brother.

"I guess what matters in the end was that he cared about you enough to save you, regardless of his beliefs. At least then. I wish I had someone like that." Roderich mused.

"And by extension, saved myself and Feliks." Elizabeta clarified, coolly stepping forward. Gilbert could tell by the rigidness in her voice that she was still reluctant to trust Roderich. Roderich seemed the same. He had interrogated her, after all; although Gilbert didn't know the exact details. Not to mention that they had attempted to murder each other numerous times. That level of antipathy didn't just evaporate away.

_"Feliks?"_ Roderich repeated.

The Pole bounced forward at this. "That's me!" he chirped, "I was the guy who uhh… the chloroform and stuff."

"Oh…." Roderich tilted his head and eyed the Pole warily, as something scraped off from the bottom of a shoe, probably trying to keep his usual aristocratic cool in front of that immature teenager who had effectively immobilized him with a rag. The Austrian stuck out a white gloved hand at Feliks. "Magister Roderich Edelstein."

Feliks didn't seem sure what to do to the gesture, so he high fived Roderich's outstretched hand instead.

"I already know who you are. But ya never learned my name. Or bothered to, I guess. I am the great Feliks Łukasiewicz. Nice ta meetcha!"

"Er… yes." Roderich said awkwardly, withdrawing his hand slowly by the wrist after Feliks had slapped it.

Gilbert decided the confrontation had turned docile enough to put his gun back in his coat. Roderich relaxed visibly at this.

"Roderich, I was wondering why you came back here, to Vienna is kinda destroyed, ain't she?" Gilbert asked.

The Austrian shrugged. "Berlin you'd find in even worse shape. Vienna is my home. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I wouldn't abandon her now. Certainly not for some ashy swampy hellhole in Poland."

Gilbert snorted amusedly, a nostalgic smile tracing around his lips. "Same old bitch Roderich."

"Yes. And Gilbert is still immature enough that his younger brother has to hold him down to stop him from picking fights." Roderich added, with equal mirth.

"Yeah. Ludwig has saved your scrawny ass from a beating a multitude of times back at school, hasn't he?" Gilbert bit back, not losing his tone, although it was lacking his usual unfriendliness.

"Where were ya offta anyway, Roddy?" Feliks butted in.

"Perhaps you misheard me, Feliks, my name is Roderi-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya just fine. What's with the case?" the Pole asked, green gaze flickering to the violin container clutched firmly in his right hand.

Roderich looked to the four people facing him. "I was on my way back from a concert, before I ran into you four. Is it appropriate to ask how you all got here?"

Gilbert snorted, a wry smile crossing his pale face. "It's a long story, really. I don't know if you could handle talking to us for that long."

"I am sure I could tolerate your inferior dialect of swamp German for a few moments at least, Gilbert." the Austrian admitted.

Elizabeta grabbed Gilbert by the shoulder. And paced forward, in front of Roderich. Gilbert noticed that she wore his cunning expression as she eyed Roderich. That countenance on her was rare to him, and he decided he rather liked it on her.

"Oh, it's nothing _really_ ," she purred, catlike. Her green irises flickered to the corners of her eyes and a tapered finger found its way to her chin, as if in thought. "We robbed a house. Bashed in the skull of a wayward Soviet infantryman. Slit the throat of an American bomber pilot. Stole a car –well, two- " she lowered her voice, "Saved a nice Jewish family, even..."

Roderich was astounded. "What?! You must tell me!"

"It was wonderful seeing you. But we really should be on our way. The sun begins to twilight. Goodbye, Roderich." Elizabeta sang.

Roderich deflated at this. Then cocked his head, an idea forming. "I was going to go to a restaurant. Why don't you four come with me?"

Elizabeta remained firm. "We're leaving."

"I'm sorry Roderich. We appreciate the offer, but we don't have much money." Ludwig admitted, truthfully.

"Uh…" Even Gilbert was hesitant. And he was _starving._

"Don't be barbaric. I shall pay." the Austrian replied.

"Wait, like, a _restaurant?_ With real food? I didn't know those still existed! Oh I'll go!" Feliks exclaimed.

It seemed one of them wasn't totally adverse to the idea. If Roderich was paying, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. And if it did turn out to be a trap it wouldn't be especially difficult for Gilbert and Ludwig to team up and kill Roderich. Their weapons remained concealed.

"Well yes, hopefully one that has food. I mean, families are growing vegetables in public parks and eating their pets so..." the Viennan trailed off, actually dignifying Feliks's rhetorics as if it were an actual question. Given the circumstances of the city, it apparently was one.

Was it really that bad here? Gilbert had been isolated from the state of home at Auschwitz. Of course life was hard in the Polish towns outside Auschwitz, with a Pole dying on a ration card for half that of a German, and the Germans never had issue plundering from what they wanted. Gilbert immediately thought of Berlin and his mother and Gilbird. Ludwig frowned and looked away somewhere too, likely thinking of the dogs he used to have. It had been a while since Gilbert had been in a city that was part of the Axis. But he didn't think it would be as bad here as it was when he went on leave in Poland. Vienna was being bombed profusely as well, it seemed. Although they were still allowed food shipments perhaps the fact that it was a target city made conditions worse. Still, it was impossible Vienna was in worse shape than Berlin.

"Well, if _Feliks_ wants to eat…" Gilbert said, veiling his voice with an utterly false reluctance.

"Please do consider it. Certainly it is in your best interest."

"Not since you're under Gestapo surveillance and plan to ambush us." Elizabeta said, narrowing her eyes.

"That's not what I meant. You two look like you need to be fattened up a bit. And Gilbert too." Roderich said.

"What?" Gilbert's attention snapped back at the mention of his name. He was suddenly angry at this accusation.

"Well, don't act so surprised. If what I can construe for myself is indeed true, you have either been on the run in the wilderness or incarcerated in Auschwitz for the last two weeks, correct?"

"Shut up."

"Please do join me."

"What is to say a restaurant isn't closed then?" Elizabeta pressed, her opinions on the matter quite clear.

Roderich bit back a contemptuous laugh. "If someone is fortunate enough to have work to do in this city, they will work."

"Don't talk to _me_ about work." Elizabeta scoffed. The Austrian didn't reply.

"So what do you say?" Roderich asked Ludwig this time, who had since remained quiet. The brunette's tone was softer, earnest.

"I would like to go, since you are offering."

That marked Ludwig and Feliks as yeses. Elizabeta obviously didn't trust Roderich enough to be in an enclosed space with him for any period of time, which left his answer. And Gilbert was hungry. So it was a yes. Any trouble, as he'd thought before, and he'd snap the Austrian's prissy little neck. And probably rob him of every penny.

"I'm in. It won't be so bad, Liz." he said, looking over to the Hungarian. For some reason, he did not distrust Roderich in this instance.

She flashed an evil smile. "If he kills us, I'll kill you."

"Oh Liz, you like me too much for that and you know it." With that, Gilbert leaned down and kissed Elizabeta lightly on the cheek. He felt it warm with her blush.

Roderich stared at them for a moment, and then shifted the violin case expertly in his hand. "That's majority then. This way. I know of a little French café restaurant that's still in business. It's a tad fancy, but I think we all somehow satisfy the dress code… But goodness, Elizabeta. Fix your hair! You look like a harlot."

Elizabeta punched Gilbert playfully on the shoulder in answer, shaking her hair back to its usual symmetrical mass of brown curls and righted her coat.

* * *

Gilbert bet Roderich had picked this snobbish little restaurant on purpose just to annoy him. All of this false posh –from the embroidered tablecloths to the strange man playing piano in the corner to the three sets of silverware per person- pissed him off. The rest of the world starved. That was okay though: two could play at that game. Gilbert would utterly usurp Roderich's aristocratic credibility by eating his entire meal with his salad fork.

And if this was one of those places where he'd need a microscope to see his entree, he was going to beat some unfortunate waiter up. He could see Ludwig was eyeing the conspicuously small plates in front of him with what appeared to be the same concerns. Gil could eat a horse. He tried to think of the last hot thing he had eaten. Some distant memory told him it had been several weeks ago.

His train of thought was broken by the clinking of ice in his glass. Ice. What an odd thing, why would anyone want extra ice today.

A man hovered in front of him, a silver pitcher in one hand gracefully spilling water into the glasses as he weaved between the seats of the table. It was round and white. Roderich sat at 12 o'clock, with Gilbert somewhere around two, Elizabeta just to Gilbert's left at five, Feliks near the eight, and Ludwig next to Roderich at ten. The people were situated around the table roughly by their allegiances to each other. Although Elizabeta was the only one of them who wasn't flanked on at least one side by someone who she wasn't so sure if she liked or not.

"Bonjour!" the waiter called cheerily, after he had finished filling the glasses. A blue eye flickered to the vaguely pistol-shaped lumps on Gilbert and Ludwig's hips under their blazers, although he wisely said nothing. "Would we be interested in anything to drink?"

Gilbert dropped the useless drink menu –which despite all of its fancy gold embellishments- was all in French. Of which he was not fluent. "Give me a Pilsner."

_"Oui, oui, bien sûr!_ Of course!" the waiter exclaimed, pleased in Gilbert's trust in him to pick out some suitable alcohol.

That accent. Gilbert found it a little too genuine to be a waiter's imitation at a fancy restaurant. Overdone, certainly, but not trying too hard. Gilbert studied the man's face, he could tell by the lower proportions that he didn't look quite Alpine. More western. A real Frenchman? What on earth was he doing _here_ , in one of the main hubs of the European axis, of all places?

A French resistance spy.

Gilbert almost dropped his glass.

Roderich was halfway through ordering something when he looked up, concerned. "Gilbert, is everything alright?"

"Just fine." he coughed, covering quickly. He would have to warn Ludwig somehow.

"Certainly our pianoman isn't _that_ bad, oui?" the waiter said with an amicable grin. There was no pianoman. Only a recordplayer. Gilbert laughed. Spy or not, Gilbert decided he liked this French guy. As long as he didn't try to slip any poison into his drink, that was. Then he'd be a dead French guy.

"For you, _mon cher?_ " the waiter asked, looking back to the Austrian. He stared a little too intently into the brunette's violet eyes. Then placed a hand on his shoulder. Roderich flinched fearfully away. Gilbert decided that Monsieur Frog was alright. Even if Roderich probably wouldn't give him a tip. But if the touchy Frenchman so much as looked at Elizabeta the wrong way Gilbert would be tearing out his liver and eating that instead.

"And for our _mademoiselle?"_ The French waiter asked Elizabeta. His hand strayed toward her shoulders, but he suddenly looked up at Gilbert, sensing his gaze. Gil thought he was looking into his eyes, but later realized that Frenchie's blue gaze was trained just above that. At the small metal pirate skull and crossbones on his cap. He smiled uncomfortably and his hands fell professionally to his sides before the Hungarian had noticed anything. He dodged between the seats, efficiently taking everyone's drinks. Roderich quietly stepped in when Feliks had attempted to order a fanta.

Frenchie returned a moment later, laden with several bottles. Gilbert watched him uncork a sealed bottle and pour the amber liquid into his glass. It fortunately seemed he hadn't slipped any cyanide into his or Ludwig's drinks.

He started going around taking orders. He came to Gilbert. "Sir, how would you like your steak?" the Frenchman asked.

"Rare." the Prussian answered simply.

Elizabeta stifled a good natured chuckle. "You Germans and your raw meat."

"What are you talking about? That's the best part!" Gilbert exclaimed.

_"Sure."_

"Don't laugh. You Hungarians are crazy carnivores like we are and you know it." Gilbert bit back.

There was more stupid small talk Gilbert did his best to ignore, as the only woman at the table who he would bother to listen to wasn't talking, before the waiter came back with the entrees a torturous half-hour later. Roderich announced 'Mahlzeit!' in the infuriating way that Austrians always would before eating. Without a word Gilbert was immediately chowing down. Slightly quicker but less obnoxiously he noticed Ludwig scarfing down food from across from him.

Roderich closed his eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. "I believe I have waited an appropriate amount of time before asking. How exactly _did_ you four…?"

Escape. Gilbert would much rather be eating than talking. He angrily skewered a piece of meat on his salad fork. But considering that Elizabeta would likely rather smite Roderich than speak to him, the fact that Feliks would probably get horribly off topic, and the notion that Ludwig would make their awesome story irrevocably boring and factual: Gilbert decided the task was left to him. Even if he might embellish a _little_ bit.

He looked around. There were few other people in the restaurant, but he decided that the only person outside of their circle who was in earshot would be the waiter if he came between any tables. And Frenchie, who if his far-fetched suspicions were correct, he wouldn't have to worry about betraying them. The foreigner seemed kind of busy anyway.

He turned his attention back to Roderich and took a breath. "Well, on the way back from the first escape, Elizabeta met Feliks in the back of one of the army trucks they took us back to camp in. Back at camp, someone put him under you to clean up the prison. See, here, he found Ludwig when he was looking for me, who… "

And Gilbert went on, often shoving overpriced Schnitzel in his mouth and being interjected when the story encountered a part where someone else had more expertise than he did. He told Roderich about everything he knew: except for the obvious fact that he had let the two allies live at Elizabeta's request, and that he had asked Elizabeta to unload the American's gun while he slept. Gilbert couldn't have foreseen what the consequences of unloading the M1 would be, but Ludwig likely wouldn't have been pleased that his bruises from his fight with the Soviet were to be blamed on his Prussian brother. Gilbert also hadn't realized that a certain blonde-haired Frenchman had been struggling to listen in to their rapid German.

After Gilbert had finished their saga, the round table was silent.

"That's quite amazing, if I do say so myself…." Roderich denoted eventually, soft violet eyes still wide, digesting the influx of information.

Gilbert felt Elizabeta tense next to him. As if she was expecting armed SS and Gestapo and every German military personnel within ten kilometers to come running into the small restaurant at Roderich's signal. Yet no SS came. What Roderich was saying about his dischargement may have been true.

"Well, duh! Of course it's cool. Someone should write a movie for us, y'know?" Feliks said, smiling. "After this whole war thing blows over and our countries are friends again." he clarified.

Ludwig smiled wistfully. "Perhaps if the USA doesn't nuke Berlin, there will still be a decent place in Europe to make movies. Granted we have our own finished by then to threat against London."

Gilbert stopped swirling the head of his glass and raised a curious eyebrow. "Ludwig, what's a 'nuke?'"

"Never mind." Ludwig said quickly.

Frenchie came back to the table, he leaned down to Feliks and said something lowly.

"He like, wants to know if we want dessert." Feliks said.

Gilbert started laughing. "Oh, what a question."

"Of course we'll have something else, mister! Give us a minute please." Feliks said cheerily to the waiter, conveniently forgetting to ask Roderich what he was willing to pay for. Frenchie swiftly passed out some menus, which Gilbert was pawing through in an instant. He pointed at something that mentioned apples and cinnamon. Then the waiter disappeared again.

"Where are you all going next?" Roderich asked. "Do you plan on staying? It's not safe for you here in Vienna, if you spend too much time you might make a mistake."

"To Switzerland." Ludwig spoke up again, taking a sip from his beer.

Roderich nodded. "The border is six hours by train from here, but beyond Voralberg has been closed by rail. And you'd need travel papers. Are you planning on leaving soon?"

"We'll recuperate for a few days in Austria. Be out before '45. We're considering entering illegally, given our backgrounds." Gilbert said. "I don't want to forge a fake paper identity or something. Too complicated."

"And remember, in Switzerland, their German is unintelligible." Roderich said.

"Oh," Gilbert said apprehensively. This coming from the Viennese Roderich, whose German Gilbert and Ludwig could often not understand unless Roderich wanted him to.

"There is another thing that has been nagging me, if you don't mind. The matter of how Elizabeta survived the gas initially. You sacrificed a look-alike?" the Austrian asked.

Gilbert looked to Elizabeta for permission. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She looked back at Roderich. "That will stay our secret," Elizabeta said.

Roderich looked back to Gilbert, brows raised, hoping for a different answer to satisfy his curiosity.

"What she says goes." Gilbert said, supporting the Hungarian.

"Oh." The Austrian replied simply. "Very well."

Roderich leaned over to Gilbert when the Prussian had taken a break from shoving food into his face. He whispered hesitantly, "The first time you attempted escape, I woke up in a closet with my trousers around my ankles. You didn't … _do_ anything to me while I was unconscious, did you?"

Gilbert put the fork down. " _My fair Austrian princess?! Why, I'd never!"_ Gilbert shrilled, his voice raising an octave in pitch with mock-offense. Feliks and Elizabeta burst out into laughter. A sly smile spread across Gilbert's lips.

"I detest you." Roderich growled.

"Hate you too, _darling."_

"Do not forget that I am paying, dear Gilbert." the brunette warned.

_"Hmph."_ Gilbert huffed, defeated; although admittedly satisfied in the indignant reaction he had coaxed out of the noble Roderich. He sawed off a hunk of ersatz apfelstrudel.

"Roddy, what type of music do you play?" Feliks asked, looking at the violin case by his feet.

Roderich smiled, pleased that the conversation had taken a turn in one of his favored directions. "What the people want to listen to. As long as it isn't that obnoxious popular swing music those dang Americans are trying to corrupt real European art with recently."

Feliks grinned. "You just don't like it because you can't dance it."

Roderich scoffed at this. "Like you can?"

"Of course!" Feliks huffed, offended. "Anyone who's cool can dance it."

"I think not. Ludwig, do you like swing music?" Roderich asked, carefully picking his audience to prove his point.

The blonde blinked. "Of course not. Negro music? German kids get into trouble for listening to that back home."

"Like, why would you ask _Ludwig_ for advice on what's cool."

Gilbert smiled wryly. "I know how to dance to it. Wanna see, Luddy?"

"Gilbert, not in a restaurant, oh God please!" Roderich interjected, horrified of about ten different etiquette rules being broken at once.

"See? _Gilbert's_ cool!" Feliks exclaimed.

"What?! Gilbert, where did you learn!?" Ludwig demanded.

"Nowhere you'd go." Gilbert said with a laugh. "Liz, can you?"

"Yes."

Roderich rolled his eyes. "Aren't we just a bunch of proper young hooligans. Good grief."

The waiter came back with a check. As if by some second sense, he seemed to know to give it to Roderich. "At your leisure sir. I assume everything was up to our standards, _oui_?"

"Yes. Of course. This remains to be one of my favorite restaurants." the Austrian said cordially, unfolding the handwritten piece of paper and checking the man's addition. Although if the way the brunette's eyebrows lowered at his statement Gilbert bet he did not appreciate how touchy-feely this particular waiter was to him.

The longer haired blonde smiled amicably. "Did you know the concept of restaurants was conceived by French imperial cooks after they lost their jobs in the Versailles Palace after the French revolution? They made places where they could serve good food to everyone. Not just the royal family."

"I did not know that." Roderich said, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the check. The Frenchman bade farewell and quickly disappeared to tend to another table. With a grimace, Roderich paid the bill.

They all stayed there talking for a few minutes more. Gilbert was eager to leave due to the fact that there was no longer any food in front of him: but some much-too-ignored voice inside his head told him it would be too rude to ask to leave before someone other than himself or Feliks brought it up. Usually he would ignore this, but Roderich wasn't a Nazi anymore and he _did_ pay….

Thankfully, Ludwig leaned back in his seat. He exhaled and folded his hands over his stomach. "That was delicious. Thank you Roderich."

"Yeeup! Totally delicious." Gilbert chimed in quickly, before someone could change the subject. "Snob— _fanciest_ restaurant I've ever been to." _Or would ever like to._

"Yes, my pleasure! I am glad you could all accompany me. Thank you for filling me in on what happened. Let us depart then?"

_Yes! Thank God._

Frenchie looked up from another table. "Au revoir, my friends!" he waved.

The four filed out of the restaurant. Elizabeta quickly and silently found her way to his side. Outside, the air was slightly cold and the sun had vanished underneath the high skyline of the Alpine hills. The streets were clearing of people. Red Christmas ribbons blew slightly in the breeze.

"Goodbye Roderich. Thanks again." Ludwig said as politely as he could, knowing someone needed to say something: and that unfortunate task came to him, due to the ineptitude of his company.

"Bye Roddy. I'd ask you if you wanted your gun back, but I wouldn't give it to you even if you did." Gilbert said, in his version of a farewell.

The Austrian rolled his eyes. "I am charmed. But luckily for you I do not particularly want it now." Roderich said.

Gilbert shrugged and spun the weapon neatly in his hand. "Your loss. Can't say I'm complaining."

"I would like to ask for something specific in return however, if you do not mind."

"Nmm?" Gilbert grunted in response.

"I would like to borrow Elizabeta for a moment." Roderich requested.

"What?!" Gilbert barked. He felt Elizabeta look up at the mention of her name.

"I would like to talk with Elizabeta." he reiterated, as if he hadn't heard.

"She doesn't need anyone's permission to go anywhere. Certainly not mine. But whatever you have to say to her can be said in front of all of us." Gilbert growled.

"I really would prefer if it was just Miss Héderváry and myself, if no one objects." Roderich said, looking over to the Hungarian woman. She had been leaning against the white marble siding of the building with her arms crossed. Elizabeta's face was unreadable, except for the permanent scowl that had etched itself onto her lips whenever she looked at Roderich. Her green eyes narrowed tigerlike in thought.

"Well?" Roderich prompted.

Elizabeta shrugged. "I'll go." she said.

Well. Now that was a surprise.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"You two kids _have_ _fun_." Gilbert's voice was cheerily laced with humor at the last word. Roderich was anything but fun.

Elizabeta felt Gilbert reach down to whisper into her ear. He reached an arm around to embrace her, but instead she felt something heavy slide into the deep pocket inside of her coat on Roderich's blind spot.

"Give him the benefit of the doubt. But if he tries to pull anything: you gut him. Understand?" he whispered darkly. She thumbed her pocket lightly and recognized the weight of the metal object. His dagger.

Elizabeta nodded once in answer.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

High fives weren't invented until 1970s USA but Feliks has always been a trendsetter.


	33. Chapter 33

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"We'll stay around here." Gilbert said at normal volume.

"Bye Lizzie!" Feliks squeaked. He looked at her with brows raised for a moment, locking his crystal green eyes with hers. _Be careful_ , their message was clear.

"Bye Gilbert. Bye Feel! Bye Ludwig."

Roderich set off along the white sidewalk. He looked back at Eliza for a moment, waiting for her to follow him. Reluctantly, but more curious than anything else, she walked alongside him as she had promised. A wintery chill cut through the white streets, but the lights of the city blocked out the stars she found herself searching for. She was used to them blazing reassuringly bright and clear above her –if not a bit coldly- when she was in Poland. It made her feel like the whole city was in a fishbowl painted black.

 _"I am glad you could accompany me Elizabeta. I was afraid they wouldn't let me take you."_ Roderich said after a moment of walking.

Elizabeta stopped in her tracks. It wasn't _what_ he said, but the language he spoke it in.

"You speak Magyar?" Elizabeta returned, astonished, in the same tongue.

"Yes. Our two countries were one, not so long ago. No need for anyone else to listen in." the Austrian clarified.

Yes…. That made sense that he spoke Hungarian. Elizabeta had told him to get fucked when he had first taken her outside back at Birkenau's Appelplatz. He then promptly kicked her to the ground, so he probably understood what she had said. And he had told her goodbye when he had her lined up for selection. But she had never even considered that such a monster could be fluent in her language. It was a little part of her that the Germanic guards at Auschwitz couldn't quite pierce. She assumed Roderich was merely parroting.

"Why did you take me out here?" Elizabeta asked, the familiar words flowing off of her lips. It was such a nice language. She would have to teach Gilbert some sometime.

"Hush. Come. Walk with me." Roderich gestured for the Hungarian woman to keep pace with him. He extended his hand.

She shot him a glare. _Don't tell me when to walk._ She wanted to stand out of defiance alone, but then realized that she would, one, look stupid standing in the middle of the sidewalk for an extended period of time and two, probably not figure out whatever it was Roderich found so important to say that he felt the need to drag her off.

So she walked along, chin up, not looking him in the eye. And she most certainly did not take his hand. She was not his pet.

"How did you escape the chambers?" Roderich eventually asked.

Elizabeta blinked. "That's not what you abducted me to ask for." It was more of a statement than a question.

"You are correct, it is not. But I want to know anyway." the Austrian replied, not looking at her either.

Elizabeta pursed her lips, contemplating if she should dignify such a curt question with a response. But eventually decided she was without reason to withhold the information than her own pride. "It was luck… I collapsed under the other bodies. An air pocket formed between me and the wet floor. I didn't suffocate."

"No heroic interference from Gilbert, then." he noted, lowering his dark eyebrows. "What stopped them from burning you anyway? You were still unconscious, were you not?"

"Gilbert showed up after the gassing was done and took me back to the soldier's barracks. I don't know exactly how. Something about stealing a car and sneaking me in."

"I see. He has a problem with that –stealing vehicles-, doesn't he?" Roderich said.

"It's a useful problem." she defended.

They walked in silence for a moment more. Roderich said nothing. The streets were quiet, except for the clacking of worn shoes on pavingstones. Elizabeta risked speaking up again.

"So… I told you something. Can you tell me why you wanted to talk now?" Elizabeta asked.

"I had two reasons, really."

"How about we start with the first then?" Elizabeta hissed, as if she didn't goad him on the Viennan would continue his stalling.

"Er, yes. I suppose you could say I came to apologize." Roderich said.

Elizabeta was not expecting that. "Apologize? To me?" she stammered.

Roderich didn't regard her disbelief with a response. He kept speaking anyway. "I was under the orders of the Third Reich when I did what I did. From taking you outside that first time when I saw you disgracing the flags. Arranging for your demise at the selection. Reporting you when I saw you with Gilbert, thus inciting the search. Volunteering to act as the head of your case while the both of you waited for execution. The interrogations…."

"At the time, I did not feel any regret for what I had done. I did it not only because I deemed it moral at the time, but because I wanted to. Regardless of the fact that my desires coincided with my duties." Roderich said softly. His eyes shifted guiltily to the ground. "I hated not only yourself for your retaliation, but Gilbert as well. Not because someone told me to. You see, my actions were of entirely my own decision. My fault. And I acknowledge that.

"I only wish now that I had come to this realization sooner. Before I had to be threatened with something as drastic as my own execution to realize it. I humbly ask for your forgiveness. For this, I am truly sorry, Héderváry Elizabeta. For the troubles and grief I have caused your friends, and especially yourself."

Elizabeta stared at him with wide eyes. She had never expected this. She suddenly felt guilty for acting so hostile when he had treated her to the restaurant. She had hardly said a word to him. "Roderich… I don't know what to say." Elizabeta whispered, finding herself unable to keep walking.

"You need not say anything." the Austrian responded. He had stopped walking as well. "Misconceptions can arise from language. That is why music is universally beautiful to all people. I only hoped you would listen."

Elizabeta looked into his dark blue eyes. Try as she might, she couldn't muster the unadulterated hatred she had once felt for this man when she looked into their depths. She wanted to hate him for what he had done, but then she realized something. That if Roderich hadn't been messing with her, there would have been nothing to catalyze Gilbert to have stepped in that fateful day. She wouldn't have struggled. She wouldn't have changed. She wouldn't have learned to trust the monster that Gilbert was. And she most certainly wouldn't be in Vienna right now.

"I forgive you, Roderich." Elizabeta whispered. "On behalf of me, and everyone else."

The man closed his eyes and smiled faintly. The gentle wind blew the tails of his sleeves behind him. "Thank you, Elizabeta. Your forgiveness means a lot to me. Perhaps I will sleep at night a little easier now. But there is one other thing I took you out here to accomplish."

"What?"

Roderich nodded and delicately leaned his violin case that hadn't since left his side on the ground. With his gloved hands he adroitly opened it. He pulled out a piece of sheet music and carefully tore a palm-sized corner from a sheet. She wondered briefly what was so important to him that he felt it necessary to ruin one of his pieces of music. He flipped it over to the blank, slightly yellowed side. He then pulled out a pen and in a neat blue, slanting cursive inscribed something brief on the paper. He folded it once and slid it between his index and middle finger.

"This is my address. If you all need anything , -money, a place to stay for a few days,"

-he pressed it firmly into her palm and folded her fingers around it with his hand.

"You find me. Understand?"

Elizabeta held the paper hesitantly. "Roderich… this is unnecessary…."

"It is indeed absolutely necessary. If I can atone for the troubles I have caused your friends in any small way it will be worth it." the Austrian stated.

Elizabeta nodded. She had little intention on having them take him up on his generous offer; but she couldn't help but respect him for it.

A silence stretched out. Roderich shifted nervously. He cleared his throat. "We should get going soon. They'll start a further blackout of the city if they pick up any planes on radar. We don't want to be around when that happens….My house is this way," he gestured gently with his violin in the direction they had been pacing in. "But I will still walk you back to the others."

"That's alright. I remember the way." Elizabeta voiced.

"It can be dangerous for a young woman here at night. I should probably give a more proper goodbye to the others too. I really wouldn't mind taking you back…" the tall Austrian trailed off.

"I'll be alright. I know the way."

"Alright… If you say you do…" Roderich said, unsure. Was that a bit of sorrow she detected?

She pursed her lips. "Well... I guess this is goodbye then?"

"Goodbye, Elizabeta. I wish yourself, Gilbert, Ludwig, and Feliks luck in whatever you end up doing." Roderich concluded.

"Goodbye Roderich. And, I just wanted to say thank you."

"For dinner?" Roderich asked.

"Uh, yeah. That."

Roderich Edelstein smiled welcomingly and turned away. But Elizabeta's tongue caught on his surname. As if she hadn't noticed it before.

"Wait… _Edelstein_ …. That's a Jew name, isn't it?" the question blurted out of her mouth before she had thought to censor it. Just because something ended in 'stein' didn't make it Jewish, there were plenty of names like that that were just Germanic in nature. It was unlikely anyone passing could understand them, but she berated herself for speaking without thinking anyway.

Roderich looked at her curiously for a moment, his body still turned away. He was backlit by the streetlights, she couldn't make out the details of his face.

"Great grandfather," he smiled and raised a single gloved finger to his lips. "Some church records were lost in a fire."

Her green eyes widened in shock. It appeared she wasn't the only one who was wanting to keep secrets. She looked down at the ground, more thoughts swirling around in her head. A sudden talon of guilt reached her, for being so cold to him in turn.

"Wait, Roderich, I wanted to say thank you for more than just dinner! I wanted to…"

But when she looked up, she realized she was speaking Hungarian into the empty air. Roderich had vanished into the familiar labyrinth of his own city.

"I just thought you were really brave… why you took me out here. How you fixed yourself away from the Nazis," she whispered. But the only response her words met was the hollow night wind echoing emptily between the buildings. It was a lonesome sound.

* * *

She let out a sigh. She should go back now, if what Roderich said was true about the air-raids. She did remember the way back: it was mostly straight. She started walking. Only a few people were still on the streets. She didn't see too many cars, gas was likely strictly rationed even here. The wind bit around her blazer and through the thick green dress and her bare calves, but the kerosene lamps that hung from the quaint shop fronts gave the emptying streets a warm orangey hue. She found herself looking down at the shadows her shoes left on the ground. For twenty minutes she walked. She recognized the green and gold awning of the restaurant as she turned the corner.

She came into earshot to see vaguely Ludwig, Feliks, and Gilbert shaped forms arguing.

"It's not necessary." Gilbert stated, a lit cigarette he had procured from somewhere while she was gone glowing between his two fingers. It was dark now, and the three males stood under a street lamp outside of the restaurant.

"It absolutely is. The balance isn't right. Because of the war, there's more of them then there are of us. You asked and I answered. It's not like I'm going to lie. Gilbert, why do you always have to start these fights with me?" Ludwig asked.

"It is _not!_ " Feliks shrieked, his voice lower and more menacing than she had ever heard from him.

Ludwig spoke again calmly. "There's millions of Aryans enlisting in the German army and dying. That blood is lost and we can't do anything about it. But then there's all of these Jews and Slavs not fighting. So we need to take Darwin's hand and do it ourselves. Otherwise it's not fair to the evolution of the human species."

"That's bullshit and you - look who's back." Gilbert said, looking up from his men-talk. He glanced at the approaching form.

Elizabeta's shoes clicked to a stop on the white marble sidewalk. "Hi Gil. Hi Feel, Ludwig." Elizabeta greeted.

The Prussian's voice was humorous as her turned his gaze on her. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and ground the butt zealously into the stone with the heel of his black boot. "I'd have expected you to return with a wimpy Austrian walking at your side like a mutt. Or perhaps with some pieces of hair or clothing that our siren would have liked to keep from her victim as a souvenir?"

Elizabeta smirked and let out a chuckle. She flipped the black dagger out of her pocket and handed it back to Gilbert.

"Where'd the little princess disappear to?" he asked.

"Home, apparently. He offered to walk me back but I refused."

"Sounds like you. Us three got us a room to stay for the night while you were gone." Gilbert said.

She nodded slowly. "Thanks- wait. How the heck did you get a room? Aren't there homeless people everywhere?"

Gilbert shrugged and smiled guiltily. "Me an' Lud scared the sheiße out of some old man who owned an inn."

"Always the gentleman you are, Gil." Eliza snickered.

"Hey, we at least _paid._ Ludwig insisted that much."

"You should be quite proud." she taunted.

"What did Roderich have to say? I see my knife is suspiciously free of gore." Gilbert noted, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

"Well, he said he was sorry. For everything he'd done to us. It was genuine."

Gilbert's brows rose considerably, before relowering themselves "…I guess he was too proud to tell me face to face."

Elizabeta shrugged and smiled faintly. "I guess he knew I'd tell you anyway."

"Did you forgive him? Did he even ask for your forgiveness?" Gilbert asked.

"He did actually."

"And…?"

Eliza shrugged. "I was surprised he was brave enough to talk to me. And he really did seem sorry," she felt the paper he had given her burning in her blazer. "I forgave him. And I told him you guys did too."

Gilbert tossled her hair.

"Hey-!" she protested.

"I'm proud of ya, Lizzie." Gilbert said, red eyes smiling as he stared down at her. "He's a musical asshole who talks as old-fashioned as a Franco-Prussian war vet, and quite frankly annoys the shit out of me when he's not buying me food. But he doesn't deserve to go to hell."

Elizabeta nodded. Despite their virtually opposite ways of looking at life, Elizabeta was pleased that they were both human enough to understand each other despite that.

Gilbert looked over. Eliza saw Ludwig and Feliks bickering over something. "Hey _ladies!"_ Gilbert barked, "We ready to go?"

Ludwig and Feliks ceased in whatever they were debating about, united over the brashness of the Prussian's insulting tone, and stepped over to Gilbert and Eliza.

Eliza looked over at Gilbert. "Where to?" she asked.

Feliks skipped out ahead on the white sidewalk in answer, spinning neatly on his toes. He pointed ahead of him. A few nearby pigeons fortunate enough not to be eaten by the city's inhabitants fluttered raucously into the air, as if to emphasize the Pole's point. "Just a few blocks thataway to the room Gilly and Luddy got. But I am _soo_ beat."

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert watched as Ludwig inserted the key they had obtained into the door which led to the outside. The blonde brother had been unofficially appointed as their group's stuff holder. Ludwig held their money and the keys, since the Auschwitz staff had of course confiscated Gilbert's wallet, IDs, and paycard when they captured him and never gave it back. Plus; Lud admittably wouldn't blow it all on booze or cigarettes or food like Gilbert knew he might. Well maybe the booze, but that was besides the point.

The door from the outside swung open. The room was sparsely furnished but luckily not especially small. Beige walls, with creaky wood on the floor and a greenish bed. On either side of the bed were mismatched bedside tables. A couch was near the window, with a large solid wood desk and chair. A small round table was in a corner underneath a cabinet. A door to his left to what he assumed was a bathroom. Gilbert paced forwards and drew the curtains on the window closed.

Feliks flopped himself down on the bed and bounced a hard six centimeters into the air. Elizabeta sat down on it as well.

"Elizabeta gets the bed the first night. Feliks takes the couch. Gilbert and myself will take the floor." Ludwig ordered. He took his coat off and placed it precisely on a wooden hangar inside the closet. He then neatly undid his tie and did the same. He set his iron cross carefully down on the desk with an audible _click._

"Jeez, I'm sure me and Elizabeta could both take the bed." Gilbert said. "That way we could have one less person on the floor."

"I woke up at the ass crack of dawn, formulated an escape plan, fought a Russian as big as a house, and traipsed all over Vienna. I will _not_ be awoken by noises of sexual intercourse tonight." Ludwig growled.

Gilbert was already thinking his way around this problem. There were still a few hours before it was time to go to sleep. He'd figure something out by then.

Feliks was prattering excitedly on about how he'd never in his life actually taken a shower before. A few minutes later the Polish man had emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white towel, zealously signing foreign songs Gilbert didn't know with dripping yellow hair. Ludwig barked at him to put his clothes on. A command the Pole blithely waved for the next ten minutes.

Feliks then began snooping around the room. He pulled open the two drawers on either side of the bed. His face lit up in a grin he pulled out one book from one side of the bed, and another from the other.

"Hey guys, check out what I found!" Feliks displayed the two books in his hand. One was bound in dark blue fabric and in silver print read the words "Holy Bible". On the other, bound in red with golden lettering, read "Mein Kampf".

"Ohh. That is _too_ funny." Gilbert laughed, suppressing a snort. He found the fact that the two books were compared quite amusing. One was something mankind had been reading for centuries. As the typical Prussian he held a respect for it. The second, _Mein Kampf_ , was written by a madman Austrian while he rotted away in a prison cell barely twenty years ago. Hardly even literature. Gilbert had read it way back when, of course. Hitler was well-spoken, but hardly a good writer. It appeared that the _mighty Führer_ had cut a cross section of his cerebrum out of his skull with a dull meat cleaver and poured his bloody thoughts in a disorganized mess onto the thin yellow pages.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at the two easterners. "I don't understand what's so funny."

"You don't think the fact that the innkeeper thought to compare them amusing?" Gilbert said. "To his customers, at least?"

"No. I do not."

Ah well. That was Ludwig for you.

"Liz, you find it funny?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes. Very funny." Eliza said, although the voice was lacking her usual spirit. She was probably tired from all of that walking today. Gilbert pouted and threw himself on the bed. _He_ still had loads of energy, of course, and he had almost killed two people today! Footsteps next to him alerted him to Ludwig's presence.

"I'll be taking that." Ludwig said, delicately plucking the thick red volume from the bedspread and into his square hands. The golden eagle and swastika stamped on the front with the title glinted in the lamplight as Ludwig snatched the book up. The German padded over to the desk. Gilbert heard the leather rolling chair moan in feeble protest as the German leaned his substantial weight into it.

Gilbert huffed in response. Ludwig must have memorized the thing by now, judging by how many times he had read it. Gilbert grabbed the blue-bound book and started leafing through it boredly.

Feliks had braved Ludwig and found some paper and a permanent black marker on the desk, which he dragged a safe distance away to the couch. The Pole leaned down on his stomach and started drawing quite animatedly on the paper. Gilbert undressed to his white nightshirt. Elizabeta sat down on the bed and curled next to Gilbert. Her skin was pale. Wow, she looked _beat._

"You seem tired. We can go to bed, if you want." _We can forget that sex thing,_ his mind translated. He set his black coat blanketlike over her.

Elizabeta looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "It's nothing, I just feel a little off. I'm sure it will go away in a few minutes."

Feliks looked up from his doodling. "Really? I feel a little funny too."

"Sick..?" Gilbert questioned.

"Yeah, kinda." Elizabeta answered. "Ever since we got back from the restaurant."

A jolt went down Gilbert's spine as he put two and two together. He shot up from the bed in an instant.

"That damn frog! He slipped poison into the wrong person's food!" Gilbert hissed. "I'll shove my boot down his snail-eating throat!" Where was that restaurant again? He'd hunt that French guy down like a dog! Gilbert's mind was already running through various methods of torture.

Ludwig looked up from his reading. He quickly folded a page corner down with his thumb and closed the red book. "Was I not the only one who thought he was a spy?"

"Gilbert, Ludwig, what on Earth are you talking about?" Elizabeta asked, her voice rising.

"That French guy! He poisoned yours and Feliks's food when he meant to get me and Ludwig!" Gilbert exclaimed.

Ludwig remained quiet after his spy question. But his blue eyes were cloudy with contemplation. A thick finger found its way to his square chin in thought. "Gilbert, although likely a spy, I do not think the waiter necessarily had anything to do with Elizabeta and Feliks suddenly coming down as ill."

Gilbert blinked. His red eyes were glittering with quiet hope. Had Ludwig figured out something he hadn't? "What's goin on in that head of yours, Lud?"

"Do you remember what that Russian said to her? After we walked in to the pilot trying to give her some chocolate?" Ludwig asked.

Gilbert's blood ran cold. "Oh my God."

"Yes."

"No, please no. Anything but that." Gilbert whispered, as if Ludwig's disapproval could alter what he had figured out.

"It makes sense from a medical standpoint. Elizabeta and Feliks are used to surviving on a very minimal amount of lipids and proteins. Their bodies aren't sure what to do with the more complex molecules." Ludwig said slowly, his voice carefully devoid of any emotion in case it triggered something in his older brother. Gilbert moaned inwardly, wishing he had figured this out sooner. Roderich was smart, and although he had the best of intentions, he lacked the experience to know taking them to a restaurant would affect them. The Prussian berated himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Well! What is happening to them, huh Doc?!"

Ludwig blinked. "I don't know; I'm a soldier, not a doctor. For all we know it could be gumming up their bloodstreams. But the Russian said the camp victims he and his comrades tried to rehabilitate got really sleepy and then they…."

Gilbert was up in an instant, cutting the blonde off before he could say the 'd' word. But he didn't go to Ludwig. He was in front of Elizabeta, carefully propping her up on the headrest of the bed as if she were a doll.

"Elizabeta, is this true?" Gilbert asked softly, as if she would know. His white fingers lingered for a moment behind her head and slowly brushed a few wayward curls of brown hair from her face.

"I don't know. I've never felt like this before. I mean, I _do_ feel kinda full…" the Hungarian trailed off. Her green eyes flickered nervously.

"Me too." Feliks said. "But she's got it worse than me." he added, somewhat worriedly.

"I don't think they'll die." Ludwig said, hoping to calm his brother. "It's not like they were eating candy or something- it was real food. And not a whole lot. Plus, they've been slowly gaining weight wince they left camp. Feliks isn't even especially thin."

"Elizabeta, please don't die!" Gilbert begged.

Elizabeta snorted and curled her legs around her side. "I won't _die_ Gilbert. I've been through too much to let that happen. Much worse than this."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Here, let me get some water…" Gilbert hurried over to the bathroom. He returned with two full glasses. He set them both on the table by Elizabeta, forgetting the one to give to Feliks in his haste.

"No." the Hungarian answered with an almost comical evenness.

"Should we try and make them throw up?" he asked, to Ludwig.

"No!" Elizabeta protested, leaning up from the bed. "We'll be fine!"

"I'm not taking any chances." Gilbert said, his face settling in a determined frown.

"Gilbert, having them throw up wouldn't help. It's already into their intestines and being absorbed into their systems. That's why they're only feeling the affects now."

"Well we can't just sit here!" the Prussian exclaimed, slicing his arms out from his side. He paced the room with long powerful strides before quickly having to turn around again. Gilbert Beilschmidt was not helpless. He would not sit back and do nothing in the face of the enemy. Only this wasn't something he could pound into a beaten and bloody pulp.

"Gilbert, I'll be just _fine._ " Elizabeta said. "You're overreacting."

He ignored her protests. Some protective feeling he hadn't quite felt before washed over the Prussian. He reached for the water and placed the glass in Eliza's hands. She glared at him exaggeratedly before begrudgingly taking a sip. Then another.

"There. See?" Eliza said, hoping to appease him.

"Are you cold? I could probably rip those curtains down if we need to use them as a blanket."

"Gilbert, this is ridiculous! I'm going to be okay!" Elizabeta exclaimed for the umpteenth time. She blushed a bright red. She wasn't used to being coddled so. And Gilbert most certainly was not used to doing the coddling. He hadn't coddled Ludwig half as much when he was little, even when he was sick. Not even Gilbird had received this caliber of pamperment from Gilbert.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Gilbert asked, worriedly. He couldn't get his mind off of this. He would not let Elizabeta die. Never. He would never let her die before him.

"No! Go do something, Gilbert."

"Certainly I can at least— _HEY!"_

The Prussian stumbled backwards as something hit him in the back of the head, sending him stumbling a step forward before he caught himself. He whirled to face his assailant to find Ludwig smirking playfully at him. The couch was missing a cushion.

Ludwig. Allergic to fun, social-darwinistic, Ludwig. Had just up and thrown a pillow at his face.

Gilbert didn't know why Ludwig had chosen that moment to throw a pillow at the back of his head. And he didn't care either. Because right now: he had a score to settle with a certain baby brother.

 _"Oof."_ Was the sound that escaped Ludwig's lips as Gilbert forced the air out of his chest by pinning him roughly against the floor. "You're fast."

"Faster'n the German conquest of Poland in '39." Gilbert said, smirking down at his momentarily subdued larger brother.

"Hey!" An offended squeak echoed from afar.

In an instant, the German had pushed himself up off of the ground and slung a fist towards Gilbert's pale cheek. He wasn't using full strength, but Gilbert knew better than to get hit with any punch of Ludwig's regardless. The Prussian anticipated the blow and dodged to the left. But Ludwig eventually caught him with a swift knee to the abdomen, which crippling the Prussian, sent him leaning back on the ground.

"You forget that I am bigger than you, dear brother." Ludwig crooned. His eyes were cold, but a brotherly smile was curling around his lips.

"You forget that I've been teaching you to fight since you were five years old." Gilbert countered. He ran at Ludwig again, noticing that his weight was balanced somewhat unevenly on his feet. Ludwig's knees buckled and he was, once again, on the ground, his expression dumbfounded.

Gilbert ran a rough hand through his brother's slicked back blonde hair as he pressed his face into the carpet. "You had such a goofy haircut back then," he teased. He shook the hand, brushing the previously neatly arranged golden hairs into his brother's eyes. Ludwig puffed out an annoyed breath, blowing the coarse golden strands out of his face.

"You _still_ have a dumb haircut." Ludwig responded. Gilbert noticed that with his hair brushed in front of his face, the younger's hair faintly resembled Gilbert's. Ludwig rolled neatly on the ground, twisting out of Gilbert's grip and locking him in a lose chokehold. He then leaned on the ground, trapping the smaller brother in front of him. The Prussian writhed, but saw no way to utilize brute strength to break from his brother's deathgrip. Gilbert stuck his tongue out, stretching it dangerously close to the well-muscled arm that locked around his throat. Ludwig's hold faltered for a moment.

"Gilbert, if you even _think_ about licking me, I _swear-"_

Gilbert drew his tongue thick and fat across the hairs on Ludwig's arm. The strong lock around Gil's throat quickly dissipated. Ludwig was muttering curses. Feliks and Elizabeta were both perched above them on the bed, laughing at the two wrestling brothers.

"That was juvenile. You'll pay for that." the German growled, wiping his arm off with flicks from his palm as if something filthy had touched it.

"If you've picked up one thing from my teachings it's not to fight fair. If you didn't expect that you deserved it."

"I will pound you worse than the Russians did to the East Prussian front in November!" Ludwig threatened.

"Hey!" Gilbert protested.

"Ooh. _Burn"_ Feliks commented. Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the peanut gallery. But that momentary distraction was exactly what it took for Ludwig to barrel in to the Prussian and pin him to the ground. Ludwig shifted Gilbert's wrists behind his back before he pressed it into the carpet, not giving him enough of an angle to push himself up off from the floor. A knee pressing to his hard stomach prevented Gilbert from rolling up onto his feet. He stared up into Ludwig's winning blue eyes. But suddenly Ludwig was forced down on top of him with an audible _'oof.'_

"Feliks wins! Poland is victorious!" the cry echoed.

Gilbert looked around Ludwig. Dangling over the man's chest was a long gray pantleg. Feliks had jumped off of the couch and crushed them both using the height. The Pole bent over to look at Gilbert in the eye. His green eyes sparkled in triumph as he smiled coyly.

"Gett _aawwrrff."_ the brothers mumbled simultaneously.

There was another squeak as some more weight on the bed above them shifted. A soft thump on the carpet. Gilbert felt Ludwig tumble painfully off of him, and an inelegant thump on the ground denoting Feliks as fallen from the dogpile as well. Gilbert glared up through the tangle of limbs at the form that eclipsed the yellow lamplight above him.

"And the Hungarian Turul seizes its victory."

"Lizzie, hey! I wasn't ready!" Feliks protested. "You coulda' teamed up with me!"

Gilbert snorted and sat up off the floor, his legs still stretched out in front of him. "Bullshit. Feel, you were ready the moment you decided to jump on Ludwig's back from the bed like a horse."

Gilbert started rolling off of the ground when a small foot pressed against his chest. It forced him back onto the ground. Gilbert stared up at Elizabeta's triumphantly grinning form. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

"Considering I'm the only one left standing, I suppose we can safely say I'm not going to die?"

Gilbert grunted. "Yeah, whatever. I guess if you can keep up with me an Lud you two are all right. Even _if_ you cheated." His tone was begrudging in the admittance that he had overreacted, but Elizabeta knew as well as him that he was happy in the knowledge that whatever had afflicted her had worn off. She could see it in his eyes as well as he could.

Elizabeta removed her foot and extended her hand. Gilbert took it, but instead pulled Elizabeta down onto the ground with the rest of the tangle of men. The Hungarian landed in a graceless heap atop Gilbert's chest. She glared at him before she flashed an earth-shattering smile. Her lips parted softly and she started to laugh. And seeing her: green eyes glinting amber in the lamplight, russet hair messed around her head, rolling on the ground like one of the boys; Gilbert couldn't help but chuckle as well. The contagious noise increased in volume until all four of them –Ludwig included- were sitting on the floor of the room laughing.

And for a moment everything was fine. It was Christmas. They weren't enemies of the whole world. There weren't Nazis who would kill them. Elizabeta and Feliks weren't in constant danger of being found out. Ludwig wasn't going to go off to war and die. Everything was going to be okay. And Gilbert was happy.


	34. Chapter 34

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Elizabeta was breathing evenly next to him, curled in the crook of his arm. She was sleeping. Her face was still full of color and every few seconds her chest would expand out. She was warm and radiant and alive.

Feliks got up from his drawings suddenly as if noticing something. He peered behind the couch and started snooping excitedly around the room. Gilbert rolled his eyes at the Pole's antics. He leaned up off of the ground to observe whatever Feliks found so fascinating- but the blonde head of long hair had already disappeared around the corner of the room. Gilbert sat up slowly, as not to awake Elizabeta. He went over to see what Feliks had been drawing so devotedly on his paper.

Staring down at the sheet on the desk Gil was surprised to see not only what was drawn on it, but how. It appeared Feliks actually had some artistic talent. Wild horses ran across the paper, drawn with a light hand despite the heavy ink. They were illustrated quite well, appearing as if they were wild and trotting across a field. The legs were all in different positions and the manes flowed out with an almost liquid quality. Even if it looked like Feliks had started making up the muscle structure at some points, for lack of a better reference. Feliks had even signed his name. Gilbert wondered why the Pole's last name was spelled with what appeared to be an 'L' with a slash through it, when it clearly made a 'W' sound whenever Feliks pronounced it.

No one sat on Gilbert Beilschmidt and got off scott-free. Unless your name was Elizabeta Héderváry, of course. Gilbert was about to extract his revenge.

Gilbert readied the pen mischievously above the page and quickly added a few doodles of his own. Mainly, a giant monster Gilbird eating the horses.

Footsteps.

He messily scrawled the words _"Gilbert war hier!"_ in the sky. The Prussian slid down on the floor next to the resting Elizabeta as if he hadn't moved at all. He fixed his expression with his best innocent look. Which -given Gilbert's experience- had been honed to perfection. But anyone who knew Gilbert would instantly understand something was amiss. But luckily for him Feliks wasn't paying any attention to the seated Prussian. He was searching behind the couch.

"Hey guys! Like, check out what I found!" Feliks declared, striding to the center of the room.

Gilbert sat up irritably, as if he had only just woken from a daze. Elizabeta looked up too. _"What,_ Feliks? You find a leprechaun or somethin'?" he growled.

Feliks produced his finding. It was a brownish black wooden box with a cord about the size of a small banksafe. A People's Receiver. _Volksempf_ _ _ä_ nger. _The radio had a large circular mesh covered speaker on its main face and simple dials. Gilbert's family had had one, It was the cheapest of the three versions of the Nazi radio. The device only had a few government approved channels and the sound quality was grainy, but most everyone could afford it and it was a direct line to Nazi airwaves.

"I wonder why it was hidden," Elizabeta said.

Ludwig flipped _Mein Kampf_ closed and looked at Feliks approvingly. "That was a good find. We can use it to catch up to what's going on while we've been away."

"Try an' get it to some news." Gilbert advised. He seated himself on the bed and Elizabeta next to him. Ludwig padded over to the desk where Feliks had placed the radio and adjusted the three dials in that wonderfully OCD German way Gilbert was quite familiar with.

"-Overcast in Vienna, with a high near 6." a voice came in. Ludwig nodded approvingly at his handiwork, before taking a step back and rotating the dial clockwise to change the station.

static

"- on the Hungarian banks of the River Danube."

static

"-As for the Pacific front, we actually have a veteran with us on set as a diplomat to the Japanese Empire! Mr. Honda, what do you have to say about the American offensive in the battle of Iwo-"

static

"Go back. To the River Danube one." Elizabeta commanded, her voice stern. Ludwig carefully rotated his wrist as instructed. River Danube? It was the huge one that flowed from the alps through Vienna, Bratislava, and Budapest.

More white noise. Then, a strong male voice came into focus; even-spoken and devoid of emotion just like a newscaster.

"-Hungarian Nazis have grown desperate as the Soviets bombard and lay siege to the capitol," the voice announced. The Russians had sieged Budapest already? There was more static. Ludwig quickly adjusted the dial for the station to come back into focus.

"-However-"

Shhkkkk

"-Adolf Hitler dispatched the 6th Panzer division to defend the city. Yet Soviet advancement continues undeterred,"

Sccckkkk

"-remaining Nazi Hungarians surround the Budapest ghetto,"

Scchhkkk

"-70,000 ghetto inhabitants of all ages,"

"-lined up along banks of the river,"

Scckkk

"Shot."

Shhckkkk

"-bodies thrown into the water."

schhkkk

Ludwig's hand removed itself from the dial in realization. A Volksempfänger should not be able to access these radio stations, enemy radio stations, and to listen to them was criminal. The device had been tampered with. Gilbert heard Elizabeta shift next to him on the bed.

"Ludwig, turn it off!" Gilbert hissed.

Ludwig did as his brother instructed. With a quick thrust of his hand, the German cut the speakers. After a quiet moment all attention turned to Elizabeta.

"Budapest… that is my homecity…" Eliza said slowly. She raised a few slender fingers to her brow, looking despondently down at the bed at something distant Gilbert couldn't see. "Oh my God…"

Gilbert held her close. He felt her press her face into his chest. Feliks padded quietly closer and placed a comforting hand on the girl's exposed shoulder.

Ludwig looked up next, sensing something was terribly wrong with the Hungarian. He looked at her and said, "Don't worry Elizabeta….They're only Jews."

The small body in Gilbert's arms went rigid at that.

"What did you just say!" Elizabeta snarled.

Ludwig blinked, caught off guard by her rage. "Well, I was just saying that they're not really-"

"Ludwig, I _knew_ some of those people!"

"People?" Ludwig mirrored.

In a fluid motion the female rose from the bed. She had crossed the room in a few fierce steps and grabbed her coat to cover her tattoos.

"Elizabeta! Wait!" Gilbert yelled, getting up after her. She hurled the door open and slammed it shut, several dusty flakes of the wall crumbling off like chalk at the impact. Gilbert had already grabbed his SS coat and cleared the bed in a single bound, racing after the Hungarian. But a hand grabbed Gilbert's shoulder. The silver haired male's red eyes flashed accusingly as he was ready to let a swift insult fly at his brother, but he realized it was not Ludwig that had grabbed him, but Feliks.

"Let me talk to her." the Pole said. "You stay here."

"My girlfriend is emotionally traumatized! Fuck you if I'm gonna stay here!" Gilbert whirled away. The hand didn't budge, although Gilbert could have broken away had he chosen to. Feliks's peridot eyes flashed with a green fire as he looked Gilbert in his eyes.

"What are you gonna say to her, huh?! That you know how she feels?! 'Oh, I'm sorry my people brainwashed your people into killing their own citizens. Some of which you probably grew up with?' Yeah- no biggie. It's just seventy-thousand men, women, and children. Who cares, right? Cuz, y'know, they're only Jews, right?!"

"Feliks, I'm not like that anymore-"

"Listen, Gilbert." Feliks cut him off. "Russia is only just starting to do to Germany now what Germany has been doing to Poland for five years. _Five. Years._ The thing is that you _don't_ know what she's going through. Let me talk to her."

This time, it was Feliks who left for the door and Gilbert who stopped him by the shoulder. Feliks looked up at him evenly. Gilbert glowered down at the smaller man. He released a breath, calming himself. Gilbert wasn't great with this emotional stuff. Perhaps he was just a stereotypical German. War and Engineering? Drinking games? Bring it. But this?

"You take good care of her, understand?" Gilbert whispered.

Feliks closed his eyes, nodded firmly once, and disappeared out the door after Elizabeta. It shut with an audible click. The room was silent once more. Gilbert found himself turning back to Ludwig, who had been leaning back in the leather chair the entire time. The blonde observed the scene with a cold indifference.

_"You!"_ Gilbert screamed, jabbing an accusing finger. He shot his younger brother a blistering glare that would drop the Devil to his knees. His teeth flashed up in a snarl as he met Ludwig's ice blue eyes. "You let loose another crack like that to her and I will personally make you regret ever saving the both of us. Understand!?"

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Elizabeta needed some air. Right now.

All of those civilians ….

Some of which she probably grew up with…

Dead.

Rotting in a bay somewhere.

Elizabeta felt the cold night air cut like a blade against her thin skin. Flashing around her jugular and her bare calves to leech the warmth away from her skin. Hissing like a hot iron plunged in icewater. But it was a relief nonetheless. The Hungarian wasn't sure where she should go. Nowhere far. Perhaps it was just the feeling of action that her subconscious desired, rather than an actual need to be away from the nondescript Gasthaus deep in the Austrian capital. She knew her running wouldn't change anything.

With long, high strides Elizabeta whirled around the corner of the edifice. She saw her breath puff out in a mist from her nostrils and disappear into the night behind her. She didn't go far. She felt herself tiring quickly as the adrenaline wore off. Her eyes locked on a railing overlooking a part of the street. She ceased running and pushed herself up with her arms to dangle her legs over the far side of it.

The metal piece of the railing felt cold against her posterior but was not unbearable. The city sloped peacefully down beneath her and she could see the moon-bathed marble buildings for quite a distance until they assimilated into the valley haze. The narrow streets below her were empty except for a few people. She saw a few Lippizaner carriages clopping away in the distance.

Yes, it wouldn't be so bad to stay here and breathe for a few minutes. To clear her head.

The Jews of Budapest had until then been more protected than any other Jewish population in occupied Europe. Tactful moves by the Hungarian government had kept them alive until Hungary was formally occupied just that year. But even their luck had run out. And according to the broadcast, it would be long until the surrounded capitol was annihilated by desperate Nazis and vengeful advancing Russians.

Footsteps resonated softly from behind her. Elizabeta turned to face the sound.

"Liz? That you?" A soft, Polish accented voice asked.

"Feliks. Oh. Hi."

Feliks didn't respond further. He pulled himself up on the edge of the railing next to her, his feet dangling loosely over the edge. He stared down at the buildings for a few minutes. She listened to him breathe.

"Did I ever tell you how I wound up here?" Feliks eventually asked, breaking the silence.

"We found each other in the SS truck."

"What did I tell you?" he asked, as if he didn't remember. Elizabeta squinted suspiciously. What, did Feliks have more than one version of that story to get confused?

"You said you were wandering around in the abandoned towns whose people had been deported. That they caught you on the road and threw you in the truck when me and Gilbert escaped."

"Not every town in Poland was an abandoned mess. I coulda' assimilated back if I thought it was safe. But I didn't think it was. Not for me, at least."

Eliza raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"Tell me, Elizabeta," she noticed he used her full first name for the first time, "have you heard of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising of 1943?" Feliks asked.

Elizabeta's green eyes widened in disbelief. She had heard about the uprising, of course. It was the single largest act of civilian resistance in the war to date.

"That's not possible." she said. "You're no Jew. Plus, the Nazis crushed all resistance. Everyone is dead. There's no way you could have played a part in it."

Feliks smiled coyly and waved his index finger tauntingly. His face broke out into a grin. "I didn't have to be inside the ghetto, you know."

Elizabeta nodded once, deciding against continuing trying to guess his story.

"Good! So, I like, lived in Warsaw. The capital of Poland. Grew up there, right? Nice place. Nice people. Great food. Nazis roll into town September '39. I was thirteen then." Feliks explained, rolling his hand at the wrist.

"The whole pretext for the invasion was bullshit to start with. A buncha krauts disguised as Poles broke into a radio center and started broadcasting anti-German nonsense to Poland. Talking about how Poland should attack. In the krauts rolled, and our army got beat up pretty bad. In one month and five days the Germans and Russians had divided up the country like a Pączki. But Poland never formally surrendered.

"The Nazis went around doing their Nazi things. They eventually put all the Jews in these little walled off parts of the city they called ghettos. I saw over the walls, I know what they were like. Over-populated. Not enough food. Diseases running rampant. Kinda like in Auschwitz. There were people who went around in trucks every morning to pick up the dead bodies on the streets of the mighty Warsaw." he spat the words out angrily, livid at the thoughts of a part of his city in such condition. "Or if you were nearly dead and just sitting around thinking about how hungry you were, they scooped you up with the dead guys anyway. Because why wait for someone to die, right? Because there's nothing more pleasant than being trucked off with a bunch of other dead bodies alive, right?"

Elizabeta shifted on the railing. She knew how that felt. But she kept her mouth shut.

"Nazis took out the old Jews in the ghetto first. Children without parents. People without working papers. The ghetto inhabitants went mad scrambling for these papers, or bribing Nazis or Jewish police not to ship off their family members. Then eventually it was everyone on the death list no matter who you were or what papers you had. And all their actions had bought them was time."

"So… eventually someone bright let slip exactly where the Jews were going. Treblinka. That's a death camp. No _hey-lets-work-you-to-death_ like the Auschwitz camps. It was straight up get off the train and die. So y'know what the Polish Jews thought? Well, fuck, if they're gonna kill us anyway we might as well take some Nazis to hell with us! Right?"

"So here's where I come in. It's 1943. I'm like, seventeen. Living a few blocks outside the ghetto. Some people gotta' get the weapons in these places, right? Handguns. Grenades. Molotov cocktails," he shrugged. "The works. Some of my older friends managed to get some automatic weapons inside the wall. We coordinated people on the inside to be at a certain place near the wall at a certain time. Then people like me would whistle and knock and throw weapons and bread over the wall, wrapped in cloth, which they took. It was dangerous work because if a guard was near that section of the wall they'd climb over and shoot us. Some of my friends got caught. But even though I was young I wouldn't let any other resistance members dare talk me out of it."

"So… what happened?" Elizabeta asked. She already knew what happened.

"19th of April, 1943. Day before Hitler's birthday. The Nazis were going to finish deporting the ghetto inhabitants to the trains to Treblinka. The Jews rebelled and totally caught the Nazis off guard! I was up on a roof, looking over the wall. Killed a bunch of krauts, they did! Shot and threw petrol bombs from alleyways sewers and windows. They blew up two combat vehicles too! I was so proud of them all! But…like…"

"…Yes?" Elizabeta asked hesitantly.

"The Nazis got _real_ weapons and went after the Jews the next day. It wasn't a battle, it was a _slaughter_. Half-starved adults and children armed with pistols and gasoline can't win against trained soldiers armed with tanks and machine guns and flamethrowers. The Nazis started torching the city inside the walls to the ground. People died from all the smoke. In the days after SS men just dragged Jews out in the ruins and shot them, Resistance members or not. They fought bravely, it took a month for the uprising to be completely crushed. But you're right about what you said before: every man woman and child inside that ghetto is now dead." he said. Feliks's mouth pressed into a firm line. His eyes stared determinedly off at some distant point on the horizon she couldn't see.

"But four days after that uprising started, flying high on the top of a building, I saw something that made me so, _so_ proud. Two boys had raised two flags. One was the red and white Polish flag. Right there, in the middle of the goddamn Warsaw ghetto. The other, the blue and white flag of the Resistance. I could just hear Heinrich Himmler bellowing into the phone to his underlings _"You must at all costs bring down those two flags!"_ "

"Feliks… that's incredible." Elizabeta whispered.

He smiled.

"Yes...But after the shock wore off the Germans were livid. They went looking around for the people on the outside who snuck the weapons in. And SS know how to get people to talk. I already heard they had captured some of the rebels I was friends with. So I packed whatever little things I had and ran for my life. Never staying in one place for long. So I could live to find some other way to help the resistance."

"Feliks, you're a _hero_."

He smiled bashfully. "Don't let Ludwig know. I think we're already stretching the patience he has against what he believes." Feliks added.

"You're right. We're not really sure where his allegiances lie." Elizabeta noted cautiously.

"Aha! So you weren't the only one who picked up on what he did before, then!" Feliks exclaimed, delighted. He clapped his hands together.

"Picked up on what?" Elizabeta mirrored dubiously.

"Obviously Ludwig wasn't just randomly in the mood for some roughhousing before. He had his reasons!" Feliks said wisely.

_"Reasons?_ I'm sure he has _reasons_ for hating Jews too." Elizabeta said shrewdly.

Feliks pursed his lips, each of his feet bouncing to its own little rhythm as he dangled them over the railing.

"Ludwig saw Gilbert was really worried about you. He wanted to take his mind of off what was going on with you, since he didn't think what was happening to us was life-threatening. And, well, I guess Lud did it the only way he knew how."

"You really think so? Just to take Gil's mind off of us?" Elizabeta asked. Feliks could be quite astute at times.

"Yes. I do." Feliks stated softly, his tone ringing with conviction.

That was... well, kind of... _nice,_ actually.

"Do you think Gilbert's figured it out?" she asked.

"Dunno." Feliks said simply. He reached an arm over to touch her lightly on the shoulder, his mission in consoling Elizabeta completed. "Hey, what do you say we go back now?"

Elizabeta nodded softly once and slid her feet off of the railing.

When they came back the room was dark and everyone was asleep, but the city light filtering through the curtains on the one window allowed the two just enough illumination to see by. Elizabeta noticed the two slightly darker forms sleeping on the floor of the room as they had promised. Gilbert's chest was rising and falling gently and he was snoring softly, his head resting on his forearm. She noticed as his sleeve was pushed up that the bite marks from the dog when they were captured were still clearly visible on his alabaster white skin. Feliks cautiously tiptoed around the bodies on the floor and picked his way over to the couch on the far wall. He lowered himself onto it with his arms, an awkward expression plastered on his face as he tried his best not to make any noise.

Elizabeta paced over to the bed. Her tired hands strayed to lift the green covers off before she stopped herself. There were two pillows filling the length of the mattress. She quietly pulled one off and bent back down to the floor to where Gilbert lay sleeping. She carefully flipped him over –which was a more impressive feat than it looked- and laid his injured arm at his side. Eliza delicately lifted his head up and inserted the pillow where his arm had been. Gilbert smiled in his sleep and murmured something unintelligible before turning away.

She leaned down and breathed a kiss atop of silvery hair.

"Gilbird…get offa' my head." he slurred.

"G'night to you too, ya big lug." she snorted, a smile curling around her lips. She pressed her palms against the carpet and rolled up from the floor.

With smooth strides she made her way over to the small mattress. Her hand hovered above the second pillow on the bed as she looked at Ludwig sleeping on the floor. But eventually she just fluffed it and placed her own head on it, before snuggling underneath the covers. Her eyes flickered closed and she was quickly asleep.

* * *

"Elizabeta, wake up!" A hoarse voice whispered, prodding her softly.

_"Mrruut?"_

"Are you awake?" Gleaming red irises caught the starlight.

"I am now," Elizabeta said, cracking a green eye open. She sat up on the bed and curled her shins around her thighs. She saw something metal in Gilbert's hand catch in the light.

"What is that?" she asked, her gaze flickering to the object.

"The key to next door," Gilbert informed.

"How on earth did you get it?!" she whispered incredulously.

"Stole it."

"Why? Do we need that?"

He flashed a dazzling smile and dangled the shining bronze key in his pale hand. "Well! We're certainly not going to wake brother up with,"

-he lowered his voice in his best Ludwig impression,

_"'noises of sexual intercourse,'_ if that's what you're thinking."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

1943 Warsaw ghetto uprising =/= the 1944 Warsaw Uprising

Thanks for reading!

Celtic


	35. Chapter 35

**-Feliks Łukasiewicz-**

The illustrious Feliks Łukasiewicz got up bright and early that morning. He twirled the black pen expertly between his fingers, a sly smile cracking across his cheeks as he walked back from the small bathroom. He quietly paced towards the couch –dancing neatly around Ludwig's still form on the ground- and lowered himself on the coarse green fabric. It had an almost blueish sheen. Like the eyes of a certain Lithuanian he used to know.

Toris. Feliks would have to track the man down once they got to Switzerland. Lithuania had been occupied by the Russians first, then the Nazis when they broke the pact, and now the Russians again as they gained territory. Similar to Poland's situation. Feliks would make sure the brunette was okay. Well, he supposed he might be a _little_ off there. Usually it was Feliks who was off doing something stupid, and Toris who was the voice of reason between the two.

Feliks hadn't heard from his friend in months, but he secretly doubted that the Lithuanian had gotten himself captured in a concentration camp or would ever be in a situation where he had befriended a couple of SS. Or NKVD, given his Russian situation.

 _Well, he_ did _enroll in the Russian military four years ago…_

He saw Ludwig was still asleep on the floor. The German looked like the kind of person who would wake up early too, but perhaps even he needed his rest given all of the fighting and driving he had done in the last 48 hours.

Ludwig. A crazy bastard, he was. Feliks couldn't find himself pitying a German. Even if he wasn't entirely sure what Ludwig's situation was: how he had ended up the way he did. Ludwig was a grown man who made his own decisions regardless of upbringing. But Ludwig had received Feliks's punishment for what he had done to Elizabeta already. Feliks was the type to forgive, but never to forget. Now it was _Gilbert_ that the German really needed to be worried about. The brothers would mess with each other, sure, but when the younger's political stance involved Elizabeta…

Whatever. It wasn't Feliks's business.

Speaking of his Hungarian friend, Feliks had no idea why the heck upon waking up Elizabeta and Gilbert had vanished from the room like a carrot down a horse's throat; but he wasn't too curious to their whereabouts. He woke up to hearing their voices next door at some funny hour last night.

This lack of awake people presented the young Pole with the predicament of what to do until the others came around. Which of course had led to his previous mischief. The marker was almost out of ink now. He wanted to go back to doodling, but he saw someone had vandalized his only sheet of paper… It looked like a vandalized school desk in a detention room. There appeared to be a crudely-drawn baby chicken the size of a bear attacking the horses on his page, whose gentle sloping faces had been drawn over with over-expressive frowns and tears and little 'X's over their eyes. A few other doodles had appeared on the sheet too. Iron crosses, choice parts of male anatomy, and a few strange German words Feliks wasn't quite sure how to translate. The words "Gilbert was here!" were scrawled in Gilbert's sharp script across the clouds on the page like graffiti on a wall.

Still, Feliks laughed when he saw it. Even looking back now Gilbert's antics were kinda funny. Even if all Feliks could do was express amusement at what a bad artist the Prussian was.

"Feliks?" A pause. "Is that you laughing?" A shifting of fabric below him indicated Ludwig's stirring from the floor.

"Oh no. It's the laugh Nazi! Everybody hide!" Feliks shouted to an imaginary crowd, his expression one of unadulterated terror. He stood up from the couch with an athletic jolt and looked desperately from side to side, as if for the nearest escape.

"Very funny, Feliks."

"Mornin' Luddy." Feliks chirped, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay! I won't do it anymore, Luddy."

Ludwig grunted in response. He paced over to the closet and noosed his tie around his throat with a crisp flick of his wrist that would snap a lesser creature's neck, carefully fixing the knot with his iron cross. His hands froze and he stopped in his tracks. He looked up suddenly.

"What is that smell?" Ludwig asked, his face suddenly concerned.

"What smell?" Feliks mirrored innocently. "You smell something? I don't smell anything."

"It smells like… _alcohol._ " the German noted slowly, taking a few sniffs. He knew that smell.

Feliks cocked his head in a birdlike manner. _Oh God. His face._ Feliks drummed his feet hysterically along the carpet to prevent from laughing. _Ludwig is looking over here. Hahaha!  
_

"Oh. I'm sure it's just, like, yourself." Feliks said between giggles, his voice hitching. He pretended to have a sudden fascination with the woodgrain to avoid having to look at Ludwig in the eye.

Ludwig squinted but said nothing more. He shook his head in resignated silence and closed his eyes before sliding his left hand over his scalp to slick back his blonde hair in its usual style. "I don't suppose you know where my brother and Elizabeta went?"

"Dunno. I think they ran away to next door."

"Next door?"

"I woke up cuz of a lot of thumping around and stuff. The poor lovebirds must have been fighting or something! Like, total all-out wrestling matches in the middle of the night! And Elizabeta was yelling some stuff." Feliks explained worriedly.

Ludwig raised a concerned brown eyebrow. "Why would they be fighting? What was she yelling about?" he asked.

Feliks shrugged. "Dunno. Most f'it I couldn't make out. But I remember Lizzie was all like 'Gilbert don't rip my dress _pleaaasuh!_ That's the only thing I can wear!' I guess they were having like, a clothes ruining contest, or something."

For some bizarre reason: this knowledge caused Ludwig's face to flush red. He quickly picked up Hitler's book and immersed himself in turning the pages, likely too fast to actually be reading, as if trying to flush some sort of something from his mind.

"Luddy? Ya alright?" Feliks asked.

"Just fine." came the response.

Feliks slid down off of the couch, his bare feet thudding on the floor. "It's getting late," he said "S'almost 9. Shouldn't we go over there and wake them up? To make sure neither of them killed each other in the fight? It's quiet there now."

Ludwig was red again. "I er, really think we should just leave them be…. I do not think they would appreciate us bothering them."

Feliks scowled. Couldn't Ludwig pick a better time to completely ignore his cautious personality? Lizzie and Gilly could be hurt, for all they knew. And Feliks would be there to give hugs and tell jokes and sing awesome Polish songs until it was all better again. Whatever it was the two were fighting about. That was Feliks all right; relationship counselor! They'd both thank him in the end.

"I'm going over there. You sit here an' read Der Führer's drabbles." the younger declared, bravely striding towards the door on the balls of his feet, forgoing shoes.

"Feliks, I really think you should reconsi-"

Feliks cut him off with a wave and rolled his eyes. Who knew Ludwig was a coward in the face of a fight!

"Bye!"

**XXXX**

Feliks reemerged into the original room that he and Ludwig resided in a moment later.

"Ludwig, what is this?" Feliks held the black strip of fabric in his fingers.

"Why," Ludwig picked up the fabric in his hand, scrutinizing it, "it is Gilbert's tie, I believe."

"I found it on the doorknob of the next room over. Whatzit doing there?" Feliks inquired.

"Did you go in?" Ludwig asked, brows raised, ignoring Feliks's initial question.

"No. Because there was a freaking _necktie_ hanging out on the door! The heck does that mean?!"

"I told you not to go there! That's what someone does when they don't want to be bothered. Just have some patience and wait until they come back, ja?" Ludwig snapped, placing an exasperated palm to his forehead.

Feliks was angry in the thought that he suddenly felt, _maybe,_ there was something Ludwig wasn't quite telling him about what Lizzie and Gil were doing in that other room.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Flying.

Clouds and farmland flashed below her. Perched between two massive, black wings.

Mountains.

She awoke. Prison arms, white and solid like chiseled marble curled around her midsection as she lay on the bed. Gilbert was behind her snoring softly on his right side, her curving spine pressed into his bare chest. He was still vaguely fragranced of cigarettes, which permeated with a sweet acridness from his soldierly musk of sweat, metal, and gunpowder. His face was right by hers. His face, pale and angular, remained remarkably cleanshaven despite the nearly two weeks they had spent away from civilization.

He smiled deeply in his sleep, his top lip curling up to reveal the tip of one slightly elongated canine tooth. But he tensed suddenly. She felt the mattress shake as he shifted his weight, as if leaning away from something. She saw the tendons under his hand strain against the bones and flare, before curling his fingers into fists. His eyelids wrinkled tightly before coming open. Slow and relaxed they unraveled. His irises appeared, red as a drop of blood.

The enigmaticly deep scarlet circles lightened with intelligence. He saw her staring at him, their faces only centimeters away. "Oh, good morning Elizabeta. How was fucking in an actual bed this time?" Gilbert said with a curious grin upon finding her so close.

"Your eyes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen!" she blurted.

Gilbert blinked. _"What?"_

"Your eyes…. They are like rubies." she finished lamely.

He shook his head. "You are so strange. They don't even have any pigment in them. That's just the color of my blood. People used to tease me about them back when I was a kid, you know."

Elizabeta scowled heatedly in answer. She still thought they were beautiful.

"Scowling gives you wrinkles _,_ dear." he said with a facetious mien of courtesy.

"What caused you to wake up so suddenly?" Elizabeta asked. "You were so peaceful before."

"Just had a dream. It's nothing important- something I've had before." he said gruffly, not particularly showing any signs of caring.

She eyed him sympathetically. "I had a dream too. One I've had before. It looked really scary on the outside… but I think it was a good dream. Not a scary one like yours."

"Mine looked really beautiful. But was sinister on the inside." Gilbert said, squinting.

"Ah…"

"Was I in your dream?" Gilbert asked suddenly.

Elizabeta closed her eyes and shrugged. Smiling faintly. "Yeah, kinda. I mean you weren't _you_ or anything."

"That's a contradiction, y'know. But you were the same way in my dream."

"What was I in your dream?" Elizabeta found herself asking.

"A dumb angel-valkyrie-lady thing with wings, that's what!" he chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Aren't humans strange? It's bizarre, what our imaginations do. Maybe I should go Ludwig and kill it. It hasn't been particularly useful in this war."

"That's terrible! You'd be quite boring without any imagination. And your dream isn't weird," she said, "it probably just means something."

"Give me a bottle. You'll have all of the creativity you need from me, my dear." he purred.

She rolled her eyes. "I know dreams mean something. Because mine came true." She had figured out what her dream meant. Even if it always ended right before they landed. What those mountains meant. The Swiss Alps. It was painfully obvious now.

"There's no magic hocus pocus dreams-actually-mean-something psychobabble." Gilbert rolled his eyes, curling a warm arm around her chest. "And I thought it was _my_ job to be the stereotypically religious Prussian. Believing that there's stuff giving you warnings."

"I don't know how you can be religious. Sex before marriage and getting drunk and killing people and whatnot. Although you _do_ seem to be trying to convert Ludwig, you Teutonic Knight." she purred.

"God forgives for that. He looks to see if you're a good person or not, there ain't nothing wrong with having a little fun while you're young." Gilbert said.

"I guess you could say that. I've never been especially catholic."

He sat down and was quiet for a while. His hold around her ribcage faltered for a moment. She sensed something wasn't quite right. She looked for a lighter question to ask. "Gilbert, exactly what languages do you speak?"

"Oh." He shifted onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, folding his hands over his stomach. "Well, there's German, obviously. And I know just enough Polish to get myself to nearest bar. As I think you can construe for yourself Lud's been the one to pay attention in school. I'm assuming you learned Hungarian first, and then you learned German? I also taught myself some Old Prussian. "

"Yes, those two for me." Elizabeta said. "Old Prussian?" she inquired. "I've never heard of that."

"It's a dead language. No one speaks it anymore. Not in six-hundred years, at least."

Elizabeta's green eyes lit with curiosity. She had never heard a dead language before. She expected it to sound all mysterious. "Say something!" she implored excitedly.

Gilbert cocked his head and closed his eyes, smiling proudly at her eagerness. "'Kaīls Anksteīnai.' That means good morning."

"Say something else!" Elizabeta felt herself commanding.

"Kaīls pas kaīls aīns per āntran."

"What's that one mean?" she asked.

"It's a drinking toast. It means 'A healthy one after a healthy one, one after another.'"

"Kails poskails ains par antres…." she imitated slowly, memorizing his tone to carefully parrot the unfamiliar syllables. "You'll take me to your favorite German beer hall after the war, and I'll shout that. Okay?"

"I would love that." Gilbert said proudly. "After we go to Hungary you'll teach me all sorts of lecherous Hungarian things to say. And I'll yell them out as we pass people on the streets of Budapest! Deal?"

"Deal! Sounds fun."

Elizabeta didn't want to leave yet. To go back and face the real world. She would eventually, but now she wanted just a little time alone with Gilbert. She had been deprived of that recently. Her Gilbert time had been stolen and monopolized by German Shepherds and prisons and two mysterious young allied soldiers recently. She wanted to talk. Her green gaze flickered around the room. Her eyes rested on Gilbert's black shirt crumpled on the floor. The line of brightly colored military decorations on his left breast-pocket caught her eye.

"Did you like killing people?" she asked.

"Oh…" His white eyebrows lowered for a moment.

"You don't have to answer." she recovered, sensing the man's hesitation.

"No. I should say this. I want you to know."

Elizabeta nodded solemnly, the room suddenly taking on a more serious atmosphere. His red eyes smoldered down at hers.

"Well... Ah. This will be difficult to explain since you don't know what being a soldier is like." Gilbert started. "But I guess you either learn to like killing deep down –or dehumanize your enemy- or you go a little bit crazy. Only too late do you realize that it's actually those soldiers who choose to let their conscious make them a little bit crazy are actually the sane ones."

"See…" Gilbert paused, as if searching for the words. "Normal soldiers, they're not bad people. Even the German ones. They're not all Nazis, they're just fighting for their country. They do bad things, but they're not bad people. Because deep down after all of that propaganda and romanticism wears off on the field of battle, they usually realize that they _don't_ like what they're doing. Deep down our Wehrmacht knows that we're not any different from the Franks or Englishmen or Russians they're fighting. They are all young men cut down in the prime of their lives and thrown into war."

"What's your point?"

"See, the difference between a normal soldier and an SS is that an SS chooses that they like killing. SS are monsters. Back then I was no exception. The enemy was dehumanized and I was fighting for the greatest country on Earth. I'm sure when I'm dead and dust they'll teach about us SS, not that I consider myself as one anymore, to bored kids in history class. SS will be one of thirty definitions they'll write down. Right between 'SA' and 'Gestapo.' And they'll write down some half assed definition about our cruelty, which is probably an understatement of what was true in their notebook –or typewriters or whatever the hell the bastards will have in school those days- "

He smirked. Cocking his head in a knowing way.

"And that's all I'll ever be."

Elizabeta smiled. "You'll be more than that."

He raised an eyebrow curiously. "Who says?"

"I say you're already more than that, Gil. You can be anything. A hero, if you want. You already are to me."

He smiled faintly. "Perhaps. But I've still done some bad things in the past. You know that."

"But people change?"

"Yes. Of course people can change." Gilbert said resolutely. Elizabeta nodded. He and Roderich already had. Another question arose into her head.

"Gilbert, how Jewish does someone have to be to get deported?" she asked.

"What are you talking about, Eliza?" Gilbert replied at this sudden question. "You got something to tell me?"

"I just thought you would know."

"You should know. You were a resistance fighter in Hungary, weren't you? You probably had a bunch of Jewish friends you worked with."

"Yes, but they were full Jews. What if only something far back in your lineage is?" Elizabeta asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "Well, this is really more of a Ludwig question, since the current German definition of a Jew is pretty messed up and contradictory, but I guess I can help you out. You mean by blood?"

"It's a religion. But sure." she said.

"You'd be arrested if the Synagogue records said you had at least a Jewish parent or grandparent. Anything farther back than that and a normal civilian would be safe."

"So say, if a great grandparent was Jewish, you'd be safe?" Elizabeta pressed.

"Yeah. As long as you didn't go around bragging about it. A single great-grandparent is so faint that they probably don't consider themselves as Jewish anyway. There are some exceptions of course, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention in the written part of SS school. I just shot straight and could kill a man with his own shoe. But Ludwig knows more about those exceptions than me."

"Oh." That meant Roderich was probably safe. Even though he said his records were destroyed.

"Why did you go into the army?" she asked.

"I wanted what was best for Germany and East Prussia. And when I saw there was a chance to fight I wanted to do something- because that's what I thought was best."

"So the Germans took over Europe and they're paying for it now."

"Nnnnm… we will." he adjusted the blankets on the bed. "I'm sure the Russians will fuck every woman and child in Berlin when they get there. I get mad just thinking about it…. It's part of why Ludwig is so adamant about going off to fight; even though it's hopeless. Well, scratch that- who knows what that man thinks." He grunted. "I certainly don't."

"I'm sorry Gilbert… It really must hurt to have your home city the target of millions of Reds thirsting for revenge."

Gilbert looked up. "I wasn't actually born in Berlin. Ludwig was. I was born in Königsberg,in East Prussia. That's why I consider myself Prussian. Our family moved west to Germany a few years later. Well, we never actually lived in those cities… we always lived in a village just outside. Although for most of the year it was too cold to grow a lot up there. We had a lot of animals though. I would always get so sad when we had to kill the chickens. But Father would always understand. The Russians are probably getting close to Königsberg right about now… "

"Can you tell me more? About when you were little?"

"I don't remember a whole lot from the first one. I remember when I was about six years old though, I kicked a chicken off of her nest in the coop. I took off my shoes and sat on her eggs for a while. I didn't break even one."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to know what it was like. Didn't you do weird things as a kid, Eliza?"

Elizabeta felt herself smiling wistfully. "Yeah. I'd make things out of mud on the banks of the river. Me and this Turkish kid would fashion swords out of sticks and fight each other. He had a sleepy friend whose cats we'd harass for fun. I had a nice childhood- one of the boys. I was born after the war, and the Trianon Treaty never bothered me."

"I was just growing up when the inflation got real bad in the twenties. I tried to keep a staid face for Ludwig though. Just like Father did for me."

"What do you think will happen to our countries after this war?" Elizabeta asked, hesitantly.

The albino shifted under the sheets, making himself more comfortable. He pulled her closer. "Well, right now," Gilbert started slowly, "It looks like Russia is going to take over Hungary. I don't think a guy like Stalin wants to let any territory go, even after the war."

"What about Prussia?" she said.

He stiffened.

"Dunno what'll happen to East Prussia." he said "It's like a little part of Germany, but the Allies' fat hands musta slipped when they were drawing it on the map at Versailles after the Great War. Because some _bright shmuck_ freaking drew a little strip of Poland between the two."

She wondered where he was going.

"I'm saying that Prussia better not get annexed by Goddamned _Poland_ , that's for sure! I'll beat Feliks up if that's the case. And I'll be even more pissed if it gets taken by _Russia."_ he continued, spitting the last word as if it were a curse.

"It's not the kid's fault. Plus, Feel's not a bad guy."

"That reminds me… what exactly did he say to you yesterday? After Ludwig… well, _y'know."_

Elizabeta shrugged. "He just told me a story. There's more to Feliks than meets the surface, you know."

"Hm."

Elizabeta looked at the sun streaming more steadily though the room's one small window. "We should probably go next door."

"…You don't want to go again?" Gilbert asked.

"Gilbert! It's _ten in the morning!"_ she squawked, completely caught off guard by his request.

"You care? I don't. It's great isn't it? We can screw every day for the next few weeks if we want! It's _healthy_ , you know. It's not like we have to worry about you going preggo or any-"

"Gilbert!" Elizabeta cut him off, her cheeks suddenly tinged pink. "The others are already probably sick of waiting for us. They probably want to eat, if they haven't already."

"Oh yeah… Ludwig usually wakes up at five-thirty exactly." Gilbert noted. "And I _am_ seriously hungry."

"Five thirty in the morning?" she mirrored, "Every day?"

"Well, we always had to get up really early for the Appels at work. Although when we were on leave Lud would sometimes sleep in until six. And I feel like Feliks wakes up super early like the seven-year-old he is too."

"They could have been up for hours!" Elizabeta exclaimed, climbing out of bed. She searched for her dress where it lay thrown in a wrinkled heap against the wall. Gilbert had managed not to rip it after her reminder. She did not look forward to having to explain to Ludwig why she needed to use their money to buy her something new for her to wear because his brother couldn't control himself.

Gilbert snorted bemusedly. "You really think they want us back anyway?"

"Not especially," she returned, stepping into the dress. "But they might need us to plan out what we're doing today."

"Maybe." he conceded with a grunt.

He sat up from the bed and started dressing himself. She watched the shadows fall across his abdominals from the window light as he stood up. Elizabeta was admittedly curious how the Jodhpur pants with his uniform worked; if there was anything that held their shape the way they seemed to flare out above his knee along his femur. She was amazed to find that there wasn't when he pulled them on. He caught her watching curiously and smirked evilly. She pulled on her shoes and the white blazer to cover her shoulders over her dress. A pack of cigarettes was falling out of Gilbert's coat pocket as he pulled it on. He started walking over to the bedside table where he picked two metal objects up that she hadn't noticed before.

"You brought your knife? And your pistol?" she asked, incredulously. He could have just left those in the first room.

"Of course I brought weapons! Can you count all of the crazy shit that's happened every time we tried to do something like this?" Gilbert exclaimed.

She picked up his dagger and swung it deftly like a sword, carving a figure eight in the air. With an elegant leap she alighted on the bed, raising the weapon up to glint in the light that streamed through the window.

"Come, my brave Teutonic Knight! Let us rescue young Polish Hussars and German Barbarians from their boredom!" she boomed.

"Yes, noble Magyar Goddess." Gilbert crowed, clacking his heels together and performing an eerily familiar Roman salute. He leapt onto the bed beside her, fitting his hand around hers as he stood at her side, both of them holding the dagger's black hilt. Their hands covered the tiny silver eagle and swastika from view.

"Onward!" he cried.

 _"But they'll get a warning of us coming if you scream too loud."_ Eliza warned.

"Hah!" he snorted, "'Prolly heard us last night too, but you don't see me complaining!" Gilbert sang, plucking the dagger easily from her grasp. He shoved Elizabeta roughly off of the bed, and she caught herself on two feet on the floor. Gilbert leapt from the mattress second, shaking it immensely and landing a good two meters ahead of her towards the door.

* * *

-Gilbert Beilschmidt-

The tie he had left on the knob seized in one fist Gilbert skidded inside the doorway first, Elizabeta hard on his heels. It had turned into a race. Feliks smiled at them in greeting from where he sat on the couch, examining his fingernails.

"Hey guys! Welcome back! Ludwig told me I couldn't ask about what you all did in that other room, but I hope you had fun!"

"Ah, yes." Ludwig said before the Pole could say any more. "Welcome back, you two. I was going to go out and bring back breakfast for us all. Then we can figure out what we are going to do for the rest of the day."

Elizabeta started giggling uncontrollably from behind Gilbert, upon looking at Ludwig.

"…Is there something wrong, Elizabeta?" Ludwig asked, his voice rising with confusion.

"Great Fritz..." Gilbert looked over to his brother and started chuckling too. It quickly escalated into raucous howling. Gilbert had to lean against the wall to support himself. Elizabeta leaned into his arms, covering her mouth with her hands as she laughed. Feliks was appearing quite pleased with himself.

"Good grief! Can someone tell me what on earth is going on with us today?!" Ludwig yelled, fixing his brother with a stare. "I can understand Gilbert and Feliks suddenly breaking out into idiocy… but you too, Elizabeta? What has gotten into you all?"

Elizabeta ignored his question. "Feliks," she said, between breaths "Was this your doing?"

"Yesiree! Some black hair dye would have done nicely too, but oh well. I'm surprised he didn't like, smell Polishness and wake up while I was doing it and bite my arm off! Like how a shark smells blood, y'know? I hear they only shut off half of their brains while they sleep."

"I demand to know what is going on this instant." Ludwig growled.

Gilbert composed himself and stood up from the wall. "Ludwig, did you use the bathroom this morning yet?" he asked.

"Er, no."

"Why don't you go take a look in the mirror now, eh?" Gilbert said, his pale features graced with an amicable smile.

Seeking the answer to this question Ludwig did as he was told and disappeared into the bathroom. There was absolute silence for a few precious moments. A muttering about why it smelled like alcohol to him before. Then;

"FELIKS."

Gilbert had come to know that Ludwig had three modes when he was sober: One was his usual intimidating-yet-calm normalcy. Two was his grumpy and stern acknowledgment of those less than him. Three was bahtshit _I'll-rip-your-spine-out-with-my-bare-hands-and-pic k-my-teeth-with-it-_ pissed. He was on three. It had been several years since Gilbert had seen Ludwig on three.

Ludwig emerged from the room's small bathroom with murder in his eyes. Gilbert couldn't say he didn't quite expect it. For drawn in Feliks's black marker, underneath the man's straight nose, was a small, square, black toothbrush mustache. A very famous one.

Feliks wisely ducked behind Gilbert, sensing something wasn't quite safe about how Ludwig was reacting. Like a steamroller the German barreled forward. Gilbert marched towards him, shielding Feliks, deeming himself to be the best suited to stand up to Ludwig.

"Gilbert. Move. Now." Ludwig bit out.

Gilbert squared his shoulders. "Nope."

"With this gesture he blatantly mocked the Führer, not to mention he drew on my face while I was sleeping. This is unacceptable behavior for anyone hailing from a German occupied country! He deserves to be disciplined."

"No. Kid gets a walk. I owe him one." Gilbert stated coolly. He locked eyes with Ludwig as evenly as he dared. Feliks peered out from behind him.

"Do _not_ tell me you are siding with this idiotic Polack," Ludwig growled. "You do not owe the boy anything."

"Oh, sure I do! He fixed your mess from what you said last night!"

"What mess?"

"What you said to Eliza. About the Hungarian Jews. If anything, you should be kissing _her_ ass right now." Gilbert responded.

"I was merely stating my opinion. I am not liable for how others react to it." Ludwig's tone softened slightly, he looked down towards the floor. "Plus, I truly had no intention of offending Elizab-"

"What Feliks did was fucking _funny_. You two are even. Now, I suggest you go in the bathroom and wash that Hitler-stache off of your face. And you better hope it comes off too, otherwise you're going to get clubbed to death on the street by some offended Gestapo next time you leave this room."

"Gilbert-"

"Tick-tock, tick-tock." Gilbert sang, drumming his white fingers along his wrist. "You don't want the ink to dry any more than it already has, do you?"

A look of shock flashed across the younger's face. Ludwig glared heatedly at Gilbert for a moment. He then spun on his heels with military precision and with a huff disappeared inside the bathroom. Gilbert heard the sound of the tap being turned on high and the door being shut.

Gilbert looked over at Feliks, his demeanor more serious. "You were lucky we came when we did. If Ludwig found out any sooner he would have mauled you."

"I could take him, you know."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah. My genetic marvel of a brother just has forty whole kilos on you. No big deal, right?"

Feliks made a response somewhere between a grunt and a giggle.

"That take guts though, to draw a mustache on Ludwig while he sleeps. You've got my respect for that. But if you want to make it to Switzerland before you die I suggest you tread a little more carefully around him. At least until I can fix him."

The click of a knob turning announced Ludwig's emergence from the bathroom. He stood straight and tall outside of the door for a moment. All eyes flickered to him.

"Elizabeta, is any ink still left on my face?" Ludwig asked the Hungarian. Gilbert's brows rose notably. Usually Ludwig would ask his brother for assistance, he must still be mad.

"No. You got all of the marker off, Ludwig." the Hungarian responded truthfully, her voice calm. It did not hold the mockery it once had.

He nodded firmly once. "Good. I shall be leaving now."

"Leaving? Leaving where?" Gilbert asked.

"I am going to buy food. I should return here in exactly one hour. Goodbye."

"Hey man, we were just kidding around. Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?" Feliks asked, rolling up from the table.

Ludwig looked up. He had taken his coat from the closet and slid his pistol into the holster on his belt.

"No."

With that: the door to the outside opened and slammed shut. The winter wind moaned through the doorway, and there was one less person in the room.

XXXX

The hour passed quickly. Gilbert had taken a shower. Elizabeta had told him she would take one later; but the Prussian could understand if she was traumatized by showers for life. At first Feliks was trying to teach Gilbert and Elizabeta to sing his favorite song, but neither of them seemed especially interested. Gilbert and Feliks could then be found wrestling on the floor. Elizabeta was on the ground near them, slapping the carpet with her palm in counts like a wrestling referee. Much to Gilbert's delight eventually she joined in.

The door clicked open and Ludwig emerged. The sight that met him was of three young Europeans tangled in such a manner that would make a pretzel jealous.

"Oh! Hi Luddy! Welcome back!" Feliks greeted jovially, his head peeking out from underneath Elizabeta's flank at the bottom of the dogpile. She smiled in greeting at the German.

"Yes…I am back." Ludwig said warily, slowly, upon seeing this tangle of limbs on the floor. Not quite sure how to react to Feliks being nice to him, and likely slightly suspicious. He closed the door behind him.

"Hey Lud. Got some food, I see?" Gilbert said interestedly, picking his palms off of Elizabeta and pricking up from the carpet like a dog at the mention of something to eat. Elizabeta rolled up from the floor to sit, and Feliks in turn squirmed out from underneath her.

Ludwig dropped a brown paper bag tied with twine down on the small round wooden table. It landed with a surprisingly hard thud and Ludwig took the object out of the paper. It was a loaf of bread. The German quickly cleared the table.

"Bread?" Gilbert asked, taking a seat. Feliks and Elizabeta followed.

"It is all we could afford with still allowing ourselves two days of money. Food is very expensive now." Ludwig said.

Gilbert grunted in acceptance and unsheathed his dagger –the only knife they had- and started cutting the bread into four parts. He cut two slightly larger portions for Feliks and Elizabeta.

"You stabbed the American with that. Wash it off. That's hardly sanitary." Ludwig growled.

"Oops." Gilbert chimed, not sounding particularly regretful as he lifted it from the cut loaf. He spun the dagger skillfully in his hand. He sunk it neatly back into its spot on his belt to the music of Ludwig's irked grunt.

Gilbert eased into the wooden chair, taking a piece after everyone else had. "This twrastes wrike wrood!" he exclaimed, taking a bite.

"Gilbert, don't talk with your mouth full. And you know it has some sawdust mixed in with the flour –you were in the army- you should be used to it." Ludwig stated, neatly tucking into his own piece.

"Yeah, this is more than usual though." Gilbert swallowed noisily. "Coulda' brought back something with some protein, at least." Gilbert grumbled.

"You think if civilians are using sawdust to fill out something as simple as bread that meat is available for public consumption? This isn't the army anymore, you don't get a ration of it every day. Plus, you just had some last night. And I am sure it cost Roderich a Jew's fortune." Ludwig noted.

"It sucks being normal." Gilbert said, "I hear in some places people are peeling the wallpaper from their walls and eating the glue because the paste is made out of potato flour. And Austrian food is fine too, but they only know how to make fancy-pantzy pastries. And there ain't nobody making pastries now. You know what _I_ want?" the Prussian asked, standing up from the table, the slice of bread in his hand. He tore off a ravenous bite before flopping himself down on the couch, resting his legs up in the air as he stared up at the ceiling.

Ludwig groaned, grammatically feeling the need to respond to a question. "What do you want, Gilbert?"

"I want some good German food! We need a giant fat whole roasted pig! Spanferkel! A whole array of different types of wursts and sauerbraten! A pile of sauerkraut and mashed potatoes too!" Gilbert stared off somewhere, a gleam in his eyes and a wolf's smile. He spread his arms around him in a gesture of grandeur. "And a barrel of beer _this_ big to wash the whole thing down with!"

He could hear a pin drop as the other three sat at the table with their stiff squares of sawdust-bread.

Feliks broke the silence. He twiddled his feet absent-mindedly off the edge of his chair. "…I could really go for like, some _Pierogi."_

"Some Hungarian _Palatschinke_ would be nice right about now too…" Elizabeta trailed off.

"There's nothing wrong with war food. It matters not how it tastes. It's what your body needs." Ludwig stated, tearing a bite from his stiff slice with noticeable effort.

"When we get to Switzerland, we four are gonna have a big party and eat all of the good food we want!" Gilbert declared, standing up from the bed "All in favor?"

Two "Ayes!" replied simultaneously, each deeply flavored with a different Eastern European accent.

"Good! It's unanimous." Gilbert replied. He stuffed the remainder of his slice of bread in his mouth. He raised the glass of tap water he had. "Twroo Swrrittzerlrrnd!" he bellowed.

"To Switzerland!" Feliks echoed, clinking his cup against Elizabeta's raised cup and Ludwig's; which remained in his hand at table-level.

Gilbert found his way back over to the table from the couch, loudly pulling out his chair and slumping into it. Elizabeta was the last to finish eating. "What's on the agenda for the next day?" she asked.

"We spend today in Vienna buying provisions and gathering information. We leave the city by midmorning tomorrow. We'll see if the car we left is still where we parked it. If it is stolen or damaged –which is likely- we will steal another. Siphon gas as we need." Ludwig grunted. "Myself and Gilbert will have to obtain civilian clothing before crossing the border."

"Fair enough to me." Feliks said with a shrug.

Gilbert, himself not harboring any extensive plans, could only agree. "We should probably take the car and park it closer. It would be a shame if we lost it- considering we hardly have enough money to buy food for four people." he said. If worse came to worse they could disguise themselves and sell it on the black market. At least then they'd have some real money.

Ludwig folded his hands, resting his elbows on the table to form an isosceles triangle. He closed his eyes in thought. "We will do that now."

"Right now? The car?" Gilbert asked, cocking his head.

"Yes. Right now. Get your things."

"Can me and Lizzie come?" Feliks asked.

Ludwig hesitated for a moment.

"They can come with us. It's not dangerous." Gilbert said, leaving no room for arguing.

XXXX

The midmorning streets of Vienna were crowded and businesslike. Homeless people sat in little circles in alleyways, huddled around tins, ashes smeared on their faces. They all shrunk back when the two men passed, none paying much attention to their two civilian companions and desperately pretending to be busy with something. Some bodies were lying on park benches, draped under old newspapers and coats, still asleep. Or perhaps with the cold of the previous night they would not be waking at all.

Music echoed around the city in a melody, Gilbert could hear several musicians at once. They were all set up on street corners, their cases open, hoping for people better off than them to toss in spare change. People in front of him were offered pleading smiles and cheery 'God bless you!'s but the SS didn't receive any gestures, even though out of everyone on the street it was probably them that would actually have some spare money. Little did the street goers know that these soldiers were poor too.

Gilbert stepped around a body on the street, unsure if it was asleep or not but not willing to find out. The person's shoes were off while he slept, but he had tied them around his ankles with his laces. The four were soon passing through a more crowded market section of the town.

"Fresh wurstchen, only four marks a link."

"Extra, extra, read all about troop movements and recent bombings in yesterday's _Reich_. Just five marks a paper-"

Garbles of conversation fitted through the streets. Not all of them in German. Some in stupid, singsongy, romance languages who spoke backwards and whose nouns only had two genders.

"Il gigante biondo ce l'ha. Io lo prendo, te lo do e poi scappiamo. Capito?"

"Lui? È inquietante!"

"Basta! Non abbiamo più soldi, Feliciano!

 _Damn Tyroleans_ , Gilbert thought. _Speak German, dammit._

"Ma-"

"Non ti preoccupare, sono comunque soltanto dei porci tedeschi. E anche se ci notassero, non potrebbero prenderci."

"Va bene..."

Gilbert felt Elizabeta pacing next to him. His arm felt the familiar tug to curl itself around her waist, but he restrained himself in public. His genius plan of pretending she was a prostitute last time had backfired awfully on him. And he wasn't sure how other soldiers would react if an SS was acting too friendly around a civilian while in uniform. Gilbert would just let the city people think what they want when they weren't thinking of how scared they were of him. With that, a satisfied smirk fissured across his lips.

A man attired in khaki brown with shiny umber hair paced ahead of the four, encroaching slightly closer than the little fear-bubble around himself and Ludwig had usually allowed. He bumped into a smaller man in a blue suit next to his right. Gilbert's eye caught on the darker one slipping something to the blue one. Ludwig's wallet.

"Stop! Thief!" Feliks shrilled, coming to a conclusion. The Pole's quick footsteps echoed from just behind Gilbert. At that, Gilbert heard a curse in a rapid language and the two forms started running.

"What!?" Gilbert and Ludwig barked simultaneously, ceasing in their walking.

"Those two guys! They just stole all of our money!" the Pole exclaimed, already running in the direction. But the two young men had split at a corner, running across the busy street. The darker khaki one arched left. His smaller accomplice sharply turned a corner, wove deerlike between two passing horse carts, and disappeared around a row of buildings to his right.

"Which one do we go after?!" Elizabeta asked. "Should we split?"

"The little one. With the lighter reddish hair. Right. He's got it!" Ludwig informed, catching on. "The tall one's the diversion."

"Kid's fucking _fast!"_ Gilbert said.

Gilbert immediately dug his pistol out from his side. Ludwig was a quick draw, but Gilbert was more accurate. Elizabeta could attest to that: every animal he had killed when they had escaped Auschwitz the first time had been shot through the face. And she hadn't even yet seen how he was in real war. He and Ludwig pulled ahead of Feliks and Elizabeta, their rigorous military training and health giving them a huge speed advantage. They whirled around the corner to see the retreating figure weaving through the crowd. Heavy German boots pounded the cobblestones like thunder as the four raced after their target. Gilbert leveled the gun at arm's reach as he ran, locking his elbow, and closing one wine-colored eye. A bizarre, single stray curl of hair bobbed with each of the thief's frantic steps. The cobalt suited back of the retreating figure with the copper hair centered itself beyond the notch on the edge of the barrel.

"Idiot! Put that gun away!" Ludwig roared.

"He's gonna get away!" Gilbert yelled back, annoyed that his shrewd brother would make such an outrageous suggestion. Despite the young thief's small size he was remarkably fast. Ludwig knew better than to take risks.

"Do you _want_ every curious soldier within a city block coming after us!?" Ludwig snarled.

In all four of their cases, Gilbert knew that discovery was the equivalent of death. They couldn't afford to draw any attention to them from city officials. But losing whatever money they had would be a death sentence as well.

"What do we do?" Elizabeta asked quickly from behind them.

"Continue to chase them on foot." Ludwig ordered softly to the three around him. "And hope to whatever you believe in that no military personnel see us and offer to help."

With a stiff nod Gilbert and Ludwig took off like wolves after the smaller man, gaining quickly, with Feliks and Elizabeta following less fleetly behind. The streets were rapidly clearing as mothers pulled children behind buildings and rubble; any men not abducted by the warfront watched the spectacle with affrightedly curious eyes or hid themselves in shop fronts.

Because if SS ran one way, any sane human being ran the other.

* * *


	36. Chapter 36

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Gilbert and Ludwig whirled ahead of herself and Feliks, bulleting through the white concrete Viennese streets with long strides in pursuit of their pickpocket. Horses reared away from them, their drivers muttering curses as if even the animals sensed they didn't want to be in their way. Eliza would have to give it to whoever trained the army: those two were fast. Gilbert's gun remained in his hand, and although he didn't shoot it, it certainly seemed to help people get out of the way faster.

Feliks seemed content to keep pace with her though. And that was good. Because she was already tired. A firm hand patting her shoulder from Feliks urged her on. Ludwig and Gilbert were a few dozen meters ahead of them now.

"There!" she heard Gilbert yell to his brother, gesturing wildly with his pistol towards an alleyway. Ludwig quickly followed and disappeared around the bend. As they turned the corner she heard Gilbert's faded yet giddily maniacal observation of how it was a dead-end.

Elizabeta saw someone run out of that same alley as the SS ran in, a middle-aged homeless man who was unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He passed Elizabeta and Feliks as he ran in the opposite direction, shooting them a warning look clearly asking 'what are you idiots going in there for?'

Elizabeta made it to the white marble corner and spun on her heels, about forty-five seconds after the German brothers had made it inside. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light she saw the alleyway was narrow and the Prussian's observation of how it was a dead end was indeed correct. It appeared the little thief had made a big mistake in choosing this particular alleyway to seek refuge in; he would be trapped now. She heard a few bodily thumps from inside. The floor of the alleyway was graduated by cement squares, the walls a combination of blackened red bricks and chipped cement. The tall apartment building walls on either side only let a small amount of direct sunlight into the alley. That was when she heard the screams.

It was not the pained cries of a human that assaulted her ears, but those of a tortured beast.

Two pale demons, sharply clad in black hunched over a blue fabricked form stained purple with red. Gilbert stood over the boy, restraining him against a wall. Ludwig's black leather gloves were on the ground, his pale hands coated in red, which shimmered along the curving angles of his fingers as it caught in the oblique light of the alleyway. Ludwig's wallet lay forgotten where someone had grabbed it and thrown it safely on the damp floor. Gilbert kept his gloves on, restraining the boy against the wall by his arms. In slow motion Ludwig whirled his fist into the bandit's sun-tanned face. With an eerie crack the young man's skull recoiled sharply back from the wall. She saw Gilbert's arms strain slightly to hold their victim in place as Ludwig raised his hand again. There was another panicked scream as it made contact, one that no language barrier could ever disguise as unanguished. That no _species_ barrier could ever disguise as unanguished.

Elizabeta stood still as if struck by lightning. Feliks arrived a moment later, skidding to a halt at her side upon the sight. "Holy hell…"

She felt sickened. Like her heart was pumping slimy oil into her cold veins. Were SS taught how to do this? To beat someone and keep them damnably conscious throughout the whole thing? To cause the most pain without killing someone? Was this some sort of art form she was unaware of?

"Gilbert! Do something!" she screamed.

The aforementioned Prussian looked up at the mention of his name. Another whumph echoed from Ludwig's fist making contact with some part of the poor boy's anatomy. The Prussian's shoulders shifted automatically to absorb the shock. If Gilbert noticed the sickening thud below him he didn't show any signs of it.

"Eliza?"

"Do something!" she howled again. It was obvious by the look in her eyes that she did not approve of this bestiality. But the expression that met hers was of an honest confusion.

"Kid tried to pickpocket us. He deserves a little discipline."

"You Germans and your damn rules. He's dy _ing_." she hissed. Whumph. A scream. Crying. Begging in a rapid language she didn't understand.

"Ludwig won't kill him. And if he did I'd step in. We'll just teach him a lesson. That's all." .

Another crack. Ludwig pulled his hand back. The boy's blood had begun to drip from underneath the German's black sleeve. The cement behind the boy's chest was beginning to be splattered red. Ludwig's expression was cold, merciless, without sadistic glee in what he was doing yet showed no intention of stopping. Each strike was measured, neat, and precise. His lips were pressed together in a thin line. Hawk eyes narrowed. Red splatters of blood flecked his pale, squarish face, contrasting with blue eyes.

Bullies. That's all they were. If Gilbert wouldn't do something then she would.

More by instinct than by anything else Elizabeta whirled between Ludwig's speeding fist and the crippled thief. The Nazi's hand stopped, his fingers trembling a handful of centimeters from her nose.

"Elizabeta, move." The voice was firm but perplexed at the incensed expression she wore.

"Hit him again, Ludwig!" Elizabeta howled. Her eyes burned with green fire. Her fingers curled into fists at her side, her short nails biting into her palms until they bled. She let her next words explode from her chest. "I dare you!"

The hand stayed frozen in the air, suspended in front of her face from where she threw herself in front of the cringing pickpocket. She searched Ludwig's eyes desperately for any traces of humanity. She found one. A slight sparkle, a hesitation in those small black pupils. Ludwig felt he was justified in his doing, yet at least recognized the brutality of it. He did not have a problem with this brutality, but found no glee in it. He merely saw it as just punishment. There were no politics in this, in fact, it seemed Gilbert was enjoying this beating more than his younger brother was.

After an interminable moment Ludwig's bloodied hand pulled slowly back to his side. She heard a drip in the puddles on the ground as a few drops of blood rolled down from his fingers. He took a step back from the boy.

"It is just some brown eyed brown haired mutt anyway. Not worth fighting over." Ludwig said calmly. At these words Gilbert slowly released his hold on the thief's arms. The body's knees buckled and he slumped to the ground, still conscious.

The boy looked at Gilbert fearfully. He then looked up at Elizabeta and smiled. Tawny, golden brown eyes sparkled up at hers.

"Danke." he said, in German this time. Thank you. She recognized his musical accent as Italian. Like he sang the harsh northern words instead of barking them.

Elizabeta nodded. She felt courage coursing through her veins, like she did all of those weeks ago when she first stood up to Roderich. She extended her hand, leading the boy up from where he squatted against the cement. He took her hand and luckily seemed able to stand without much of an issue.

"Let him explain himself." Elizabeta said. She looked at Gilbert and Ludwig. Neither seemed to object, although neither seemed to particularly care of the boy's reasons. Ludwig crossed his arms. It was evident to them in this city: he was poor and he stole some money.

"Well, see, me and Lovino…." the thief paused. He looked around at the four as if nothing had happened. "German is such a funny language. Do you really talk like this every day? I haven't had a need to practice it much but it sounds so funny and growly an-"

"Kid?" Gilbert said.

"Oh. Right. Back on topic. Well, see, my big brother and I didn't have any money. And we just wanted some –not a lot- just to buy some flour and make some pasta, no? And he thought, well hey _, you_ guys mighta had some money! Plus if you gotta steal from somebody why not the total freaksh- _Now_ for the record I thought you guys were totally scary and didn't want to do it. But anyway Lovino –that's my brother's name- Oh! My name's Feliciano by the way! Nice to meet you! Took the big guy's wallet from where he saw it bulging out in his coat," he looked at Ludwig, "An' he gave it to me and we were supposed to walk away. But of course brother has a back up plan! –he's very smart, you know- in case something like this happens. He gives it to me because I'm the faster of the two of us and he says I'm more innocent looking in case someone sees us. So we split up and were supposed to meet at the Karlskirche. But then you guys somehow caught me and…. I really didn't want to do it, see, but it was all Lovi's idea..."

"That takes a pair. To try and pickpocket a couple of SS." Gilbert snorted. "Or maybe you're just stupid."

"Well, sì! That's why we came witha two a' us, no?"

"Not what I meant by pair, kid."

The Italian boy smiled, although Elizabeta was almost positive he had absolutely no idea what Gilbert was talking about. He looked over to Ludwig.

"You. Big man. What is your name?"

The German blinked. But ultimately must have seen no detriment in disclosing the information to the odd Italian. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." he said.

Feliciano looked up into Ludwig's blue bird-of-prey eyes, as if within their cerulean depths he saw the work of some ancient renaissance master. Despite her disapproval it immediately made sense to her why Gilbert and Ludwig, overcome with adrenalin, had done what they did. It was what any red-blooded male would do. Especially given how much that small amount of money meant for their survival. She immediately pitied the thief for picking the wrong quarry. Feliciano's lips parted softly and a carefree smile stretched across the boy's wide lips.

"Why is it that you smile so?" Ludwig asked, as Feliciano looked up at him. He expected his previous victim to be angry. Wanted him to be, almost. He did not know how to respond to this unquestioning forgiveness.

"Your eyes… they remind me of home. They are the same color of the skies of _Italia._ "

"Idiot, the sky is the same color wherever you go."

"It is not." Then, leaning up on his toes, Feliciano kissed Ludwig on his blood spattered cheek.

Ludwig lurched back as if he had been struck. His left hand clutched his cheek as his face flushed an angry red. He raised his other in a fist above the smaller male and punched him in the face.

"Now, I don't know what kind of wine-drunk culture you have in Italy, but kissing another man, especially one who just beat you to a pulp, is absolutely not acceptable behavior!"

Feliciano whimpered back like a dog, betrayed, staring fearfully up at Ludwig. He took a submissive step back.

Two gunshots cracked through the air. Five heads flipped up at the sound. Gilbert and Ludwig instinctively stepped back towards the wall, away from Eliza Feliks and Feliciano.

A new voice. "Mani in alto!"

The gun waved. A third shot split the air, this time embedding itself in the cement between the heads of the two soldiers. A cloud of dust fell to reveal a coin-sized hole.

"Mettete quelle cazzo di mani in alto, ho detto!" the same angry, formless voice ordered.

Then, in broken German: "Hands! Air! _Now!"_

Elizabeta clacked her heels together and raised her free hands near to her head, close to her body. She didn't have any weapons other than her owns fists of which to fight anyway. She couldn't explain the situation if she was shot dead. Feliks after watching Elizabeta slowly did the same. She noticed Ludwig and Gilbert however, did not raise their hands.

Eclipsing the dim light of the alleyway stood a silhouette. He looked similar to Feliciano, if not a bit taller and darker. As he paced forward the details of his persona became clearer. Rather than reddish, his ear-length hair was a rich oily dark brown. He wore the same brown and khaki suit of the man that had taken Ludwig's wallet. _Lovino_ , if what she remembered from Feliciano's monologue was correct. A gleaming black pistol was raised affront him, firmly wrapped in two hands, with locked elbows. His dark brows were slanted fiercely over even darker eyes.

Feliciano looked at him and smiled elatedly. "Lovi! Hi! You came for me! It's-"

"Fat German pigs think I just leave _mio fratellino_ by himself!?" the darker Italian sneered, looking hostilely up at the four northerners. Feliciano seemed cowed by this angry voice.

Gilbert, insulted, sliced his hands out from his side. "Who is the dumb siesta-taking Italian to call me a pig? And who the hell are you?!"

"German is pig if he wants to live! Feliciano, _vieni qui!_ " Lovino motioned with his gun to beside him at his brother. The smaller Italian ignored the gesture and stood still, eyes wide, looking at the gun his brother held as if trying to discern if it was really there or not.

"Say that again, you Italian shit!" Gilbert challenged, taking a step forward.

"Gilbert. Stand down!" She grasped onto his embroidered shoulder to halt his advance.

She was completely and utterly bewildered when Gilbert struck her. Swift across the cheek, with the back of his hand.

She picked herself up to notice Ludwig narrow his eyes, less of a loose cannon, but in no way submissive to this sudden new arrival. Concealed by Gilbert's distractions he turned his body so the pistol on his right hip was not immediately visible.

"Oh? I am very sorry, _Herr Tedeschi_. You prefer _Mangiapatate_ , yes?" Lovino said.

"You know what this uniform is? I've killed people for saying far less than that to me before." Gilbert threatened.

"Ah? _I_ listen?" Lovino cocked the gun slowly. "If you want live, I suggest choose next words very carefully _Crucco_."

"Lovino, it's okay- the lady let me go free. They're really nice, well some of them, and we kinda did do something mean. Speak in German if you can, please. They'll trust us more that way." Feliciano said, speaking up. Elizabeta narrowed her eyes. She wondered what bizarre type of personality gifted Feliciano with enough forgiveness to make him so adamant about stopping his brother from pumping them full of more holes than Swiss cheese. And if he would have done it even if Elizabeta hadn't stepped in to halt his cruel punishment.

"Col cazzo che mi metterò a parlare in quella lingua di merda!"

"It's not a stupid language!" Feliciano squeaked. "I'm sure they think Italian sounds funny too! Just… speak in it, please."

The older Italian focused his full attention on his brother for the first time. In the dim light his umber eyes locked on the bloodstains on Feliciano's blue suit, then followed the footprints on the ground to the splatters of blood on the wall. Lovino seemed suddenly outraged, horrified. His brown eyes rang with rage at the sight of his bludgeoned brother.

"Feliciano, chi ti ha fatto questo?!"

"It's okay Lovino, you know how I kind of bruise easily, I've had worse before."

" _You!_ You did this!" Lovino howled. He swung the pistol right at Ludwig. The German was –quite literally- caught red handed. His black gloves lay clean on the ground, Feliciano's drying blood still coating his fingers. Ludwig's lips parted in surprise. But staring down the barrel of the gun he revealed no submission.

"I'll blow your skull apart!" Lovino screamed. He paced forward, the gun held at point blank not four meters away. Right between Ludwig's eyes. The Italian's fingers trembled on the trigger. But his brown eyes screamed murder. Ludwig and Gilbert, now, did not move.

_Click._

Perhaps Lovino shouldn't have fired those shots in the air before. The soldiers recognized this deadly mistake instantaneously.

"Get him!" Gilbert screamed. Instantly he and Ludwig had their guns drawn and were barreling towards the ammunitionless Italian. Lovino had put his fists up, as if that would help. He shifted his legs expertly on the ground for a defensive stance and flipped the pistol in his hand, wielding the butt as one would a club. The Germans were already upon him.

"ENOUGH!"

Like the cry of a phoenix a clear voice cut the air. Feliks stood in the middle of the alley, livid, his hands balled into fists. He glared at the German and Italian brothers with equal viciousness.

"Feliciano is sorry for trying to steal our money. Gilbert and Ludwig are sorry for beating him up. This will be put behind us now. If this carries on someone is going to wind up dead." the Pole ground out.

Slowly, hesitantly, at these words Gilbert looked at Elizabeta and lowered his gun. He was overcome by adrenalin, Elizabeta could forgive him. Especially since now they were only acting in their own self-defense. Ludwig did the same.

Having backed against the wall by the rapidly charging Germans Lovino looked crossly down at the ground, his unloaded gun hanging in his right hand. He muttered something."… _I_ not say sorry to _crucchi_."

Feliciano thumped his brother with his elbow to shut him up.

"Me and Lovi really are sorry! We won't do it again well we probably will but not to you at least -or any SS for that matter- we were just kind of desperate, In fact, it was really cool you guys were fast enough to keep up with me, even though I totally would have out ran you guys if there wasn't a dead end here."

Elizabeta and Feliks looked to Gilbert and Ludwig, expecting them to say something. To apologize. Ludwig looked mad enough to skin Lovino alive. And whatever murderous thoughts Gilbert was thinking were concealed behind his cold sneer.

"It's totally okay! We really shouldn't have tried to steal your stuff. Right, Lovi?"

An exasperated sigh and an eye-roll. Obviously Lovino was not being genuine. " _Sì_ …"

"Good!" Feliks said, clapping his hands together.

Elizabeta paced along the cement squares, her feet splashing slightly in a puddle of water. She reached down and picked up Ludwig's wallet where it lay forgotten in the grime and opened it. A picture of him stared out at her in crisp military uniform, not looking quite center on, his face emotionless, light eyes fixated at some distant point on the horizon she couldn't see. She realized it was the picture that would be sent to Ludwig's family if he died. That would be put in the newspaper of his hometown. Peeking out from hiding behind it with a few pieces of military paperwork was a smaller, older, sepia-toned photograph. A handsome, grinning, teenaged Gilbert stood behind a younger Ludwig. Three puppies were squirming on Ludwig's lap and the young blonde was smiling and laughing as one wrapped its toothless gums around his little finger. A chick was perched on Gilbert's head and appeared to be assembling a nest out of his silvery hair. Behind them both, with his hand on either boy's shoulder, stood another man. But his face was cut off by a rip in the worn photograph.

She glanced at the other side of the wallet where a few bills were. She withdrew a single, blue and red five mark note. She closed the wallet.

"The boys are sorry. Even if they won't say it." She paced over to where Feliciano stood staring at her curiously.

"For your injuries." she said. She opened his trembling fingers and pressed the bill into them. She felt Gilbert gawking at her as she handed away the money, but she ignored his eyes leeching into her backside.

Lovino looked at the bill in his brother's fingers long and hard through his dark brown lashes. He frowned with silent approval. He took it gently from his brother's hands, folded it once, and stood next to him. He wrapped his arm around Feliciano's back and let his arm be supported by his shoulder. Feliciano stood a bit straighter. A bit violent and hasty, she realized this Lovino was, but not a bad brother. He glanced up furtively at Ludwig and Gilbert.

"I believe we will be taking our leave now." he addressed to them all in slightly forced, yet understandable German. He looked at Elizabeta and Feliks for a moment.

"Goodbye." Lovino said. Feliciano looked back at her and smiled sweetly. She wondered how life and the war hadn't beaten this out of him.

"Bye." She and Feliks said simultaneously. She could vaguely hear some sort of noncommittal grunts from Gilbert and Ludwig behind her. Feliciano was the only person she had met who was her age who was so optimistic like that. Well, except for Feliks. But he didn't count because Feliks was either completely clueless or understood everything with a clarity beyond what she could anyway.

Feliciano leaned away from his brother as they walked away, performing a little dance to attest to his coordination. "Lovi, it's okay, I can walk just fine, see?"

"Shut up, _stupido_."

Their brotherly bickering faded into Italian after that. Although despite his crassness the older brother genuinely seemed to care for the younger's wellbeing. They paced away out of the alleyway and disappeared back into the light of the main road. The four northerners watched them leave.

"That boy got his filthy mutt blood all over my hands. It's hardly hygienic." Ludwig growled.

"There's a puddle of water over there." Gilbert said nonchalantly. He pointed with his boot towards where a small puddle was on the cement. Understanding, Ludwig crouched down and started rubbing Feliciano's blood off his hands in the murky water.

They left after that. Ludwig picked his gloves up from the ground and collected his wallet from Elizabeta. He did not confront her verbally about the missing five marks, but something told her he was less than pleased. That money belonged to all of them.

After some brief arguing wondering where they had parked the car –their original reason for besetting the streets that morning- they continued in a vaguely familiar direction. They walked for about half an hour, luckily not encountering any more trouble. The Viennese boulevards were grayed in wartime, if not excusably a bit damaged and dirty in parts. As she walked by she noticed several citizens cutting down one of the bare deciduous trees that lined the street with a big saw. Parked next to the sidewalk, with no signs of siphoned gas, slashed tires, damage, or graffiti; lay their old black Volkswagen where they had parked it the other day.

"Well!" Gilbert said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "That was convenient."

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

They had all driven back to their temporary residence, and parked their stolen car close by outside. Elizabeta was listening to the radio, switching to approved channels when Ludwig was nearby. Feliks discovered that after wetting the tip of his pen with water he could continue to draw. And it seemed that he had also figured out that 'Ohemgee, if I flip the paper over, it's like a totally whole new sheet of paper I can draw on!' Ludwig had gone out again and returned. And for all of his brother's troubles, Gilbert, well, Gilbert had done…. Uh… _that._

"Gilbert? Do you know where the book is?" Ludwig asked, pacing around the room.

"'The Book'?"

"Hitler's book."

"Oh! I left it over there."

Ludwig paced over to the desk where the red-bound book was behind the radio. " _You_ left it here? You had been reading it while I was gone?" A small smile of approval graced Ludwig lips as he picked up the book. "I knew we had been getting along better recently! Finally, some sense has been knocked into you. I'm proud of you Gil. This is wonderful! Here, you take it and read some more. It can help you more than it can help me." He extended his hand with the book towards his brother.

"Nah thanks. Sorry about chapter two." Gilbert said.

"Chapter…. _two_?" He flipped the book open to the second chapter. He noticed several pages were ripped from the binding. His warm smile changed to one confusion as he examined the gap in the spine where the pages were torn out. He ran a cautious finger along the ridges of the centimeter or so left from the removed papers.

"We ran out of stuff to use as toilet paper." Gilbert clarified.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Ludwig said, turning the 700 paged autobiography around in his hand and scrutinizing it.

Gilbert sighed noisily, bothered by the fact that he had to point out what was so obvious.

"I wiped my ass with _Mein Kampf_. Yes."

Dead silence for a moment. Ludwig snapped the book closed with one hand. His eyes were wide.

"You…. You. Did. _What?_ "

"You heard what I said. If you still want to read it I left some of the extra pages in the bathroom."

Ludwig was as red as the tome. He stood up suddenly, slamming his fists down on the desk. "You don't see me going around defacing the bible! You could have gone outside and found yesterday's newspapers or something like everybody else!"

Gilbert closed his eyes and shrugged. His choice of using the book was purely intentional, rather than a mere matter of laziness. "Meh."

"How is it," Ludwig growled, "That the man most capable of snapping all of your necks ends up the butt of all of your jokes?"

Gilbert smiled slyly. He remembered Feliks drawing Hitler's mustache on him just this morning. And he was fairly confident that he had now outdone the mischievous Pole. "Dunno. Perhaps it's because you're the only Nazi among us?"

"I am the only Nazi among us. You are the only albino among us. Elizabeta is the only female among us. Feliks is the only Pole among us." Ludwig explained.

"Feliks is as dumb as a brick, he won't even get the joke. Some instinct tells me that pranking Elizabeta will result with me waking up without some of my favorite body parts tomorrow morning. I'm just too awesome for someone else to fuck with. And that, my friend, leaves you. Don't get too worked up about it."

Ludwig did not seem pleased with this explanation.

" _Ludwig_ should not be trifled with on the grounds that sooner or later, his reservoir of patience for your antics against the Reich will evaporate. Very soon, I fear." Ludwig said.

"Hey now," Gilbert crooned, his voice layered with childlike mock sympathy. "If you don't like our game, you can always try to beat us at it."

"I will not participate in these dishonorable pranks. Even if to beat you. I am above that. I do not need someone else's unhappiness to feel pleasure. I take pleasure in fighting for my country and making the world a better place for the Aryan people."

"Yes. Because killing Jews and civilians makes the world _so_ much better." Gilbert droned, with an appropriate amount of eye-rolling.

"Guys, look!" Feliks pointed excitedly at something. "My marker is shaking on the desk! It's rolling!"

"Gilbert, it is time you understand that I am doing what is best for the world. Even if you yourself do not like it, it needs to be done. And as a German you should be proud to participate." Ludwig said.

"Guys! My marker! It's moving! It's like the whole building is vibrating!"

"Feliks, if you say another thing about your damn magical marker I will-" Ludwig hastily scanned for the closest thing to throw at the Pole to quell his random outbursts. Unfortunately there was nothing nearby but the window. "I will defenestrate you." Ludwig said.

"One: What is a 'defenestrate'? Two: you guys really should just check this out. See, the radio antennae are shaking now too."

"Defenestrate is a verb, thus not a phrase that requires a 'what is.' It means to forcibly-"

"Hey _grammar Nazi!_ Look! My marker! It's rolling off the desk now, I didn't even touch it."

"Damn it, Feliks! I appreciate you trying to change the subject, but can't you just let two men argue?" Gilbert yelled.

That is when they heard an earsplitting noise. Gilbert and Ludwig ceased in their arguing instantly. A low pitched, incessant moan. Raising and lowering every few seconds, as if the machine that made it needed to inhale.

A siren.

An air-raid siren.

There was tense silence in the room for an interminable moment. The only noise was the rattling of the walls, ever escalating in frequency from the engines of the bomber planes and their escorts that droned above them. Gilbert felt whatever small amount of pigment in his face drain away.

"Oh my gosh I knew something wasn't right with the whole room shaking like that! What do we do what do we do what do we do! I don't want to die today!" Feliks exclaimed. "We've been through too much!"

"Feliks, calm down. No one is going to die." Elizabeta yelled, although she herself appeared incredibly nervous. "We are all going to be okay. Gilbert, what steps can we take?"

"You two should be finding an air raid shelter right about now." Gilbert said evenly. His gaze flickered. "But…"

"But we don't know where any are…" Elizabeta trailed off, finishing his thoughts.

Gilbert shook his head. "Shit. We should have asked Roderich where the nearest ones are when we saw him. I bet he knows this city like the back of his hand."

"But we can still like, look for one, right? The nearest one can't be too far away. Plus, your Luftwaffe planes will engage them now, right? That should buy us some time?" Feliks suggested, almost desperately wanting to believe his own words.

Gilbert and Ludwig were both quiet. They both exchanged a glance. Wondering who should break the news to Feliks first.

"There aren't any German planes in this part of Europe anymore." Gilbert said. "The whole empire is too low on oil to keep any aircraft over here in the south or in the east. They're all concentrated in the west now. By France and Belgium."

"But…But…." Feliks stammered.

"We do have the anti-aircraft guns in the Flak towers we saw on the way in, but those are on the perimeter of the city. I'm sure there's a few nests up on rooftops nearby, but we can't find those from down here. A bomber can take a lot of hits... and using just the ground guns we'll be lucky if we can take down one plane in 125. And that's in clear conditions. At night that percent will plummet." Gilbert said.

They could hear the propellers from the allied planes now.

"We've gotta like, start running now!" Feliks said, taking a nervous glance outside the window. It seemed like the furniture was bouncing up and down now.

Gilbert shook his head. If they could hear the propellers now it was already too late. Maybe if they hadn't been arguing before… he pushed the thought away. This was not the time for retrospection. "No time now." he said. "You don't want to be caught out in the open when the bombs fall."

"So…Like…?"

Feliks's marker fell off of the desk. Although Gilbert had long since ceased being able to hear such a thing.

"You two will be staying here." Gilbert finished loudly. His tone left no room for arguing, he was not a serious person. But he knew damn well when he needed to be.

"Gil, why do you keep saying 'us two?'" Elizabeta asked.

He didn't answer. Ludwig started gathering their belongings, grabbing his wallet, hat, and handing Gilbert his own hat and knife. Ludwig cracked the air with his booming voice. "Feliks! Open that window!" Ludwig ordered.

"Are you going to throw me out of it? Oh my gosh. It was just like this back in Poland all that time ago. All of this shaking. The engines. Where is Toris?! I need to-"

"Feliks!" Ludwig commanded. "I gave you an order! Now open up that window!"

Ludwig's sharp voice seemed to break the Pole from whatever nightmare he was reliving. Feliks stood still for a moment, then bolted towards the window. He quickly undid the latch and thrust the window outwards. He looked back at Ludwig for confirmation.

"Which way is the wind blowing?" Ludwig barked.

Feliks stuck his head out of the window. His long hair blew in the wind, his finger pointed its way in the same, rightward direction. "That way. Right."

"Cardinal?" Ludwig asked.

"Uhm... _Bluejay_?"

Gilbert's instincts took over, drilled into him by months of training on things he had thought would be useless in real war. He ran towards the open window and Feliks swiftly stepped out of the way. He quickly located the sun's direction from the shadows it drew across the marble. It was sunset now. Winter in the northern hemisphere. That would make its position approximately west-southwest. Wind was blowing right. The British and American planes would be approaching from their base in from the south, in Italy.

"Wind is blowing west!" Gilbert calculated. Ludwig closed his eyes and nodded firmly once. Ludwig then pointed to a corner of the room.

"You two! That corner! Now! Keep your heads down! And stay away from the window!"

Feliks hastily did as instructed. Elizabeta came back from opening the door. The room felt significantly colder. "Why do we have to open the doors and the windows?" Elizabeta asked.

"In a room this small if a bomb lands on us the concussion waves will knock us out if the gas can't escape. If we are not killed or crushed instantly by falling debris, that is. Then we will be burned alive while we are unconscious. They are likely using incendiaries." Ludwig said, his voice strangely devoid of emotion as his militarian side took over.

"I don't think that will do us much good _._ " Elizabeta said, likely squinting the image of being burned alive away.

Gilbert picked up their pistols where they had left them on the desk. He handed Ludwig his. "Are you ready?" Gilbert asked. He felt a sinking reluctance in his chest.

"Where are you two going? You expect us two to just stay here?!" Elizabeta yelled.

"Ludwig and I have to find some anti-aircraft battlements and try to help however we can. We're experienced soldiers, we can probably shoot some planes down. Save some lives." Gilbert said.

"You're going out there now?" Elizabeta asked, scarcely hiding the outrage in her voice.

Ludwig spoke up. "Gilbert, I changed my mind."

"You don't want to fight?" Gilbert said curiously. "Why not?"

More rumbling. Feliks backed into the corner Ludwig had pointed at. Feliks had taken the pillows from the bed and held one in each hand. He passed one to Elizabeta.

"One: we don't know where any AA cannons are. We could be crushed before we even find any. Two: our cover will be blown. There will probably be lots of soldiers nearby, and will be skeptical of our condition and lack of weapons and knowledge of recent events. Three: you know that these guns are also manned by civilians. If they've been dealing with this for nearly nine months, they might be even better shots than we are."

He had to scream to be heard over the alarms. Multiple sirens had risen in a cacophonous melody now. "So, you're saying that…?"

"We should stay here." Ludwig said.

Gilbert immediately felt guilty at the relief that swelled in his chest. Not because he wouldn't be out fighting, no. Everyone was afraid, but Gilbert could still force himself to function in the face of fear. It was because he wasn't sure he could face himself if something happened to Elizabeta and Feliks while he was out fighting.

A terrifying whistling. A massive tremor shook the room as the first of the bombs fell. A few flakes of paint and concrete fell from the ceiling.

"Everyone DOWN!" Ludwig ordered, all but shoving the nearest Elizabeta into the corner he had deemed the safest. She landed on her knees, bracing her hands against the floor to stop herself from colliding with the wall. Already squatted in the corner Feliks was clutching a pillow above his head, knees pressed up against his chest, green eyes looking somewhere far away. His lips were quickly forming words Gilbert couldn't figure out. He realized they were in Polish.

"What do we do now?" Elizabeta asked, her voice soft. Gilbert read her lips rather than actually heard her voice.

"Now..." Ludwig said. "There's only one thing we can do."

"We crouch like _animals_ in our holes." Gilbert vowed, looking up into the air. "And pray the bombs fall somewhere else."

Elizabeta fell into his arms as he sat. He swathed them around her fiercely, protectively. He felt her heart thrumming in her chest. Hot and rapid like that of a baby bird. He tightened his arms around this little bird to make a cage to protect her. He buried his face in her hair. She smelled nice. Not like wildflowers or strawberries or something feminine and frivolous: but like a person. How a human should smell. Warm and fleshy, salty with sweat and sweet with breath. The sharp tang of fear. And he was fairly sure, that she could feel his heart too, thrashing rapidly with terror.

"Elizabeta, have you been bombed before?" Gilbert asked, his lips near to her ear. He wasn't sure why the question came to him. Perhaps some smart part of him was just trying not to think about what was flying over their heads right now.

"No."

Poor girl. She was handling this well for her first time. It was obvious that Feliks had experienced something like this before, and he seemed a lot more afraid than Elizabeta. Perhaps it was more scary when someone actually knew the terror of what was coming.

Gilbert took his pistol from its holster. He wasn't sure why, but it made him more comfortable. Calmed him down. He ran his fingers along the smooth gray barrel, watching his fingers travel over the way the metal curved away. Elizabeta was in his one arm and a loaded gun in the other. But she didn't seem bothered by it.

He saw Ludwig was sitting on the other side of Feliks in the corner. To his surprise he too had his pistol in hand. He had dismantled it and was immersed in reassembling it. Gil realized that underneath that metal machine skin Ludwig was afraid too. He realized that anyone would be. Some primitive fear of death that had been built into all of them. Of being able to hear the enemy, but not to see it or fight it. Helpless.

And Gilbert hated it.

The roaring and crashing came closer and closer. He heard masonry falling off buildings on the street. The shriek of whistles. People running out onto the street and screaming. And ever so faintly, he smelled smoke from the fires.

Elizabeta pressed deeply into his arms. He felt her trembling slightly, a slight wetness as her hot tears stained his lapel. But she did not weep. He felt her bony fingers curl into the flesh of his arms. He felt the room shake from the bombs. His ears ring from the cacophony and confusion, Elizabeta burying her face deeper into his chest with every earsplitting whistle and crash. And to his terror all he could think of was how he couldn't wait for this to be over.

Feliks screamed. He lurched up suddenly. He started yelling in rapid Polish, too fast for Gilbert to make much out. Ludwig was trying to get him to calm down. Another nearby barrage almost sent the Pole tumbling to the ground, but he caught himself and put his arms over his head. He looked fearfully up at the ceiling. Deciding nothing would fall on him he yanked Ludwig to his feet and yelled again.

"W Stukasy są tutaj!" he shrieked, "W Stukasy są tutaj!"

"Feliks, Feliks, calm down!" Ludwig ordered.

With a jolt Gilbert understood exactly what Feliks meant. What a Stuka was. And exactly why he would be ranting about an old 39 dive-bomber. But Ludwig's fierce, unfamiliar German only seemed to make Feliks more frantic. With a final look back, Feliks bolted for the door.

"Feliks! Get your ass back here!" Gilbert commanded above the blaring noise. But he knew that the blond had long since stopped being able to hear him.

Elizabeta coiled her way out of his arms and stood up. "I'll go after him!"

There was no changing Elizabeta's mind. "I'm coming with you!" Gilbert yelled. They were up in an instant. Ludwig was still standing in the room as the two lovers ran for the door after Feliks. Ludwig stood shocked for a moment, before shaking his head and running out after them.

Gilbert threw the door open on its hinges and ran down the stairs. It was significantly colder outside. He could hear the engines of the allied planes roaring above him as his boots slammed against the cobblestones. The sky was gray with smoke and dusk. But on the horizon rose a reddish orange from the flames that peeked above the nearby buildings. Some people were on fire and had ran out into the street. Elizabeta was holding tightly onto his left hand, and he would sooner break every bone in her fingers than let go of it. The planes flew in tight V formations surrounded by escorts. He recognized the thick silhouettes as B-29s and a few older B-17s. Both American models, flown from Italy. White hot bullets ripped through the air from the rooftops. Small black bundles fell from these planes, too fast for him to identify as having a shape. A small shadow flashed across the street.

"Feliks!" Gilbert called out into the street aswarm with panicked Austrians. "Where are you?!"

Elizabeta and Ludwig started calling for the lost Pole too. Gilbert saw a head of long blonde hair standing frozen in the middle of the street. The crowds parted around him like a stone in a river. Gilbert fought his way towards him, Elizabeta still holding tightly onto his hand as she yelled for people to get out of the way. He vaguely had a feeling of Ludwig barreling out behind him. But right now the black uniforms seemed to have no effect in parting the fearstricken crowd.

More moaning engines. The earsplitting sirens seemed nothing more than a whisper in the face of this terrifying whistle of falling explosives and droning propellers.

"Feliks! Feliks!" Gilbert called. He clasped a hand on the person's shoulder, whirling him roughly around. He breathed a sigh of relief. The face that met him was indeed that of his Polish friend.

"What were you thinking, you idiot! You could have gotten yourself killed! Gotten us _all_ killed!"

Feliks didn't respond verbally. Gilbert just saw the orange flames reflecting back in his green irises and milky eyewhites. Instead, Feliks very slowly, mechanically raised his finger to point at something behind Gilbert.

"What?" Gilbert turned his head to look at what Feliks pointed at. He turned just in time to see the building they were staying at explode as the bomb fell.

Gilbert was thrown against the hard cement as the concussion wave exploded. He caught himself on his palms and knees. His ears were ringing. He saw his black shadow being painted onto the sidewalk from the hot orange flames that now billowed behind him. He quickly looked to where Elizabeta laid blown flat on the concrete next to him. She cracked a green eye open.

He was aware of Ludwig standing up from the corner of his eye. He stared at the flaming shell of the building they had all been staying in not a full minute ago. Ludwig's right arm reached up to his head and took off his cap, which he then pressed solemnly to his chest.

Gilbert sat up, leaning Elizabeta gently against his torso. He wasn't so sure he could stand just yet. He shifted them both to stare at the building they had resided in. What was left of it. It and the buildings behind it had been destroyed from the falling explosives. The car they had commandeered was a flaming pyre of burning gasoline and a melting black metal shell. The ceilings were blown off the buildings, the glass from the windows now lay scattered and bubbling on the sidewalk in front of him. Flames leaped from the orifices in the wall, hungrily screaming for oxygen. Embers floated surreally through the air like petals in springtime. He felt the flames' blistering heat fanning and pricking against his face. But he stayed put, he knew he was safest on the street. It was made of cold stone. There was nothing the fire could consume here.

He felt Feliks take a seat next to him to watch the buildings burn against the gray dusk. Gilbert knew if they had been in there when that bomb fell…

He pushed the thought away. He didn't know what to say to Feliks. That damn Pole's idiocy had just saved all of their lives.

Gilbert felt Ludwig pace up next to him and sit down. He too stared at the flames for a while. Some of the people had gone off of the burning boulevard as the bombers moved on to a different section of the city or took cover somewhere else. The sirens roared and people were still screaming and crying but Gilbert could almost hear himself think now.

"It appears we shall be sleeping on the streets tonight." Ludwig said curtly, looking around him to observe the ebbing chaos.

Gilbert wasn't sure if Ludwig was stating the obvious or if he just wanted to hear a voice he knew. That morning Gilbert didn't know he would be joining the wreathes of filthy vagabonds and pickpockets that roamed the streets. But sitting on the sidewalk, resting his back against the cold marble of a something that wasn't on fire, with Elizabeta on one side and Feliks and Ludwig on the other; he wasn't too bothered. Because unlike the rest of those people crying on the road the Beilschmidt brothers hadn't had a real place to call home in five years.


	37. Chapter 37

**-Feliks Łukasiewicz-**

It was not the cries of man that awoke Feliks that cold next morning. For no man could scream so terribly. It was a sound he recognized instantly.

It was of the martyred creation. Wild, terrified, panicked, full of anguish and the instinctual fear of death. It was unendurable. Feliks sat up quietly from the cement of where he had fallen asleep the night before, curling his knees around his thighs. The sun was rising gradually, casting long cold shadows across the quiet smoke-streaked shells of the once white marble buildings, smoke still rising slowly on the horizon. The sidewalk was hard and he was cold, as he assumed the temperature hovered right around freezing. Unlike Gilbert and Ludwig, Elizabeta and himself did not have the thick military clothes they had to keep them warm. But Feliks could deal; it wasn't as cold here as it was in Poland this time of year. Feliks knew he wasn't always a lot, but enduring was one of those things.

Plus, he hadn't slept _badly,_ all dystopian circumstances considered. Elizabeta had served an excellent pillow; but Feliks didn't tell Gilbert that. His Hungarian friend was still asleep, splayed out on the cement like the rest of their group and the other civilians –dead or alive- on the street, wrapped neatly in Gilbert's arms. The East-Prussian was snoring and any part of him that wasn't grasping onto Elizabeta was flopped all over the place. Gilbert's hat had fallen off. Feliks prodded it with his foot to push it closer to him, it wouldn't be good if someone stole it. Not that anyone sane would ever want the damn thing anyway; unless perhaps as a trophy. In stark contrast to his elder brother Ludwig slept only about a meter away from them too. But sleeping didn't seem the right word. He either seemed frozen in death, breathing too slow to notice. Or intensely awake, waiting for some fearsome battle to erupt from the silence around him, and was only resting his eyes to deceive the enemy.

No sense waking anyone up. Feliks set off into the blue dark in search of the noise he had heard earlier, pacing away on the white sidewalks after putting together a brief mental picture of their location. He passed a few amateur musicians that were beginning to set up on the corners as usual although none seemed to want to be the first to wake anyone sleeping on the streets up. He passed the burned out and bullet-ridden shell of a fallen B-29. Some funny English words were hand painted on the belly of the metal beast in yellow beneath the scorchmarks. As Feliks walked he coolly observed the damaged buildings around him. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before back home.

"Ehi! Potato-eater. Up here."

Feliks looked up at the voice. He recognized the meaner Italian brother from yesterday. Feliks had forgotten his name. He was sitting on a broken marble block ledge, about two or three meters up in the air, both legs dangling comfortably in front of him. Seized in the custody of his right hand lay a bright red tomato which he bit artfully into as one would an apple.

"Hey." Feliks replied calmly, looking up into the air at his caller.

"Looks like someone is without a place to stay?" the Italian purred, a cruelly amused smile fissuring across his tanned cheeks. He bit into the tomato again with a loud crack. Feliks had never even seen someone eat a tomato like an apple.

"Seems so." Feliks noted, not sounding particularly upset. The Italian raised a single russet eyebrow at the Pole's blasé shrug. "Is Feliciano like, doing okay?" Feliks asked.

"Oh yeah. He'sa fine now. Will take more than a couple of German krautfaces like yourselves to hold that kid down. Even lead weights on his feet won't stop him –trust me I've'a tried when he gets too annoying. You can't break his spirit."

"Where is he?"

"Left him at the hideout. He will sleep for another five hours if he gets his way."

"You have a hideout? And you steal stuff? You must totally be like, Robin Hoods or something! Can I see your hideout?" Feliks asked excitedly.

"No Robin Hood. We steal from the 'moderately-better-off' and give to the 'me-and-Feli-only'. And no, you cannot see it. No _crucchi_ allowed. Sorry." Although he did not seem particularly regretful.

"Oh. That's okay." Feliks blinked. But he hesitated for a moment. He doubted he would ever see this Italian again, but he did not like being called what he was not. Not to mention Feliks had probably saved this man's life from Gilbert and Ludwig yesterday. He could be a bit nicer. Most people could be a bit nicer. "But you should know, I'm not a German." Feliks said.

"Not German?" the Italian asked.

"Not German." Feliks confirmed.

Feliciano's brother snorted. He put the tomato down, pressing his palms against the horizontal surface of the ledge of which he sat as he looked Feliks in the eye. "A _blond_ kid, speaking to me in _fluent German_ , in the middle of the _goddamn capital_ of Austrtia. If you are not German or Austrian, what the fuck are you then?"

"I am Polish." Feliks answered proudly.

The Italian broke out into guffaws of laughter. "Polish? _Polish?!_ I can understand the _Hungarian_ ragazza slumming with those monsters, her whole damn country has, but how the hell did _you_ land yourself with a couple of bloodthirsty SS pigfuckers?"

"Long story." Feliks replied simply. The Italian was sensing a good anecdote, and seemed annoyed to be robbed of his story. He crossed his legs and huffed.

"What are you doing up this early anyway?" the brunette asked, staring down haughtily at Feliks from his position high on the wall.

"Not sure yet."

The Italian rolled his eyes. "Well, aren't _you_ great for conversation." He took another noisy cracking bite of his tomato. It was crimson and fresh, Feliks had no idea how he had procured it in the starved city of wartime Vienna. In the onset of winter in the Austrian Alps, no less. All of the fruit he had seen when he passed by in the markets had been mushy and whitish.

"Hey. Can I like, have a bite of your tomato?"

The Italian looked at him as if he had just suggested that he do a backflip off of the ledge he sat on. His umber eyes widened with indignation. "Polack, do you have any idea how hard this was for me to stea _-_ _get_?"

"Nope. And frankly sir I don't care much either. But it does look delicious."

"A _Spaniard_ helped me get this." he said, tapping the fruit, as if that were an explanation.

"Is it warm in Spain now?" Feliks asked, curiously.

"The fuck should I know?"

"This is a no then. If you'll give me some of your tomato, I mean." Feliks said.

"Fuck yes it's a no!"

Confusing fellows these Italians were. Feliks shrugged. "I'm gonna go now."

"Don't have to get'a all worked up. But good luck with whatever." The Italian resumed snacking on his tomato, staring out at the city from his perch on the wall.

Feliks continued in search of the noise he had heard. It should be around here somewhere… he saw the condition of the city steadily deteriorate as he walked. Water flowed from a burst pipe like a geyser. That was stupid. Redundant. All of this clean water would be flooding the street, but he bet in a few days people would be fighting for it. A few smart women were collecting it in pots and jugs they had found.

Feliks turned another corner, sweeping for what he knew was the source of the noise that had awoken him. He found it. Four humans were talking above a crumpled lump on the ground. Three men and a girl. Two of the burly men stood farther back, each sporting coils of thick rope in their knobby hands. Looking somewhat out of place in the hands of the gentle-eyed first man, gleaming ominously in the pink dawn light, was a thick meat cleaver. The rubble of the city was piled around them.

"Papa, you can help Crescentia, can't you?"

"Sweetie, go inside. I'll help her, but you have to promise to go inside."

"But I don't want to leave her alone. She looks so cold, doesn't she Papa? What do you have that knife for?"

"We don't have any food." Another third, gruffer voice responded. One of the rope-holders.

"No food? What does that have to do with anything?" the girl asked.

Feliks approached the scene, the question already forming on his lips. "What happened here?"

The three men looked up at the young Pole. The two men with the ropes narrowed their eyes at his interruption, but the man with the knife nodded civilly in greeting at the younger Feliks. He seemed to be the leader. He was middle aged, had curly black hair, and a short scruffy black beard that he probably should shave. Tranquil royal blue eyes. He was lean, like most of the people Feliks saw in the city now. He let the knife hang lose in his hands.

"My –my daughter's- horse got hurt in the raids last night. We found her here this morning. Her legs were crushed by some masonry."

Feliks stared at the fallen creature at his feet. Yes, this was indeed the horse whose terrified scream had awoken him that morning. A proud, sturdy, working creature. A draft horse of a fine dappled gray. Her ivory crest held just the barest hints of gold threaded in with the coarse white hairs of her mane. She had wide fetlocks with more white feathering hairs covering her round hooves. This contrasted with her graphite gray cannons and ankles. As the man said, Feliks noticed a deep discoloration along where her femur would be. Pushed away from the mare were a few large pieces of broken white cinderblock, each the size of a suitcase. Her nostrils flared with each slow, laborious breath. Feliks studied the bruise assiduously from afar.

"This isn't right. For something like this to happen to a horse…" Feliks trailed off, still staring. "It was fair back in the old days. With like, the mounted Hussars and things. When the horses had a chance in war, and were respected for that. Now they're just victims. Victims of man's own war against himself." Feliks's usually high voice was very solemn.

"Man is Earth's own worst enemy. Her own child has betrayed her." the man said.

The daughter was kneeling by her horse, delicately stroking her gray muzzle with her palm. Feliks looked up at the father with the cleaver. The beautiful mare had such a strong, thick muscular neck. It would take a very long time to saw through.

The little girl looked up, as if only just noticing the strange young Feliks that stood before her. She had been absorbed in stroking her friend. "Hi Mister!"

"Hi little girl."

She cocked her head. "You sound funny." the girl said. She stood up to look him in the eye, although the crown of her blonde head scarcely reached to Feliks's ribcage.

"Do I?" Feliks asked, surprised by the child's bluntness. But children were like that. "I come from somewhere far away. That's why I sound a little different."

She giggled sweetly. Her hands flitted together and she looked bashfully away from the Polish man, twisting her right foot nervously on the ground. Her cheeks tinged a slight pink. "I like it though."

Feliks smiled tenderly. He gently untwined her nervous fingers with his hand and knelt down on one knee. He held the Austrian girl's hand in his, hers on top, and softly brought her knuckles to his lips. He then released her hand from his kiss and stared up into her innocent blue eyes.

"Thank you very much, sweetie. You are very nice. I think you should do as your _tatuś_ says and go inside and play now, yes? Maybe you can draw me a picture? Of your horse? I would like that very much."

Faced with Feliks's princely behavior, the flattered young girl could only comply. She giggled bashfully, and then skipped enthusiastically into her house. Out of the corner of his eye Feliks saw her cheeks were still pink.

"She's beautiful." Feliks said.

The man looked up. "I hope you are referring to the horse, rather than my eight-year-old daughter."

"Your daughter might be a little young for me. A French Percheron, is she? The mare?"

"That's correct. You like horses?

"Yeah. I worked in a stable. Good animals. Not too smart, but hardworking." Feliks said.

An awkward silence. Feliks shifted his feet nervously on the sidewalk. He looked at the creature breathing heavily, hurtfully on her side.

"I'm going to go get something. I'll be right back." Feliks said. He looked at the man with knife. The cold steel gleamed ominously in the light of the rising sun. "Don't like, do anything, until I get back, okay?"

The two large men with the ropes grunted impatiently. The knife-wielding father too grimaced uncomfortably. He pressed his lips together, looking for the best way to articulate what he thought, his eyes shifting from side to side.

"I really don't want to keep the poor girl in pain any longer. We tried to help her before you came as best as we could. I understand this hurts you, but please don't try to find a doctor or anything for her."

Feliks glared at him.

"I'm not getting a doctor. I'm getting a gun."

* * *

 

Feliks returned to the scene with Ludwig's pistol heavy in his hands. Neither of the soldiers had been awake, and Feliks wasn't planning on waking him up to ask him if he could use a few of their precious bullets on his little excursion. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered. Feliks carried himself quietly. They parted as he approached.

Feliks knelt down behind the horse, his thighs parallel to her curving spine. A long, rectangular pupil slid towards him, although Feliks was confident that she couldn't see him. He stroked her flank with one hand, which heaved slowly, deeply, with pain.

 _"To jest w porządku. To nie boli."_ he whispered. A velvety ear flicked at his voice.

Feliks looked up once at the black-haired man. The Austrian closed his eyes and nodded slowly once. His consent.

Feliks pressed the barrel of the handgun behind the mare's ear. He inhaled sharply, held it, then pulled the trigger.

There was an explosion of noise. Feliks felt the pistol buck against his wrist, but despite the recoil he knew he did not miss. The mare's body seized, her muscles responding to one last synaptical spasm before falling still. The street was very quiet. Feliks looked up in time to see someone from the crowd reach his hand up to his head and press his hat against his chest. Everyone's eyes were downcast.

After a small moment of silence the two men with the ropes strode forward. They knelt down and tied a few simple knotworks around the horse's hind hooves. One tugged it tight and the other added a few other evenly spaced pretzel knots to the rope to hold on to. They tipped their hats at the man Feliks stood next to. One of them slipped a piece of paper into the Austrian man's breast-pocket. They pulled heartily on the rope, digging their toes into the cement and angling their shoulders, but their straining was futile. The mare's body must have weighed 400 kilos. A few volunteers from the onlookers stepped forward. A silent crowd of five or six young Viennese men started pulling her body down the white sidewalk by the rope tied to her hind hooves.

"Do you know where they are taking her?" Feliks asked the father.

"To the _Metzger."_ he replied. Feliks was not sure what the German word Metzger translated to. The Viennan examined the paper one of the rope holders had given him with a frown before refolding it and stowing it back in his pocket.

The horse's soft white belly looked bloated and vulnerable to Feliks as the men started yanking her away. A yielding round expansive ivory plain, dotted with black-skinned genitalia. Her lifeless head nodded in solemn agreement with every yank of the thick rope.

"This the first time you ever put down a horse, sir?"

The Austrian man had caught him staring. He was trying to comfort him. "No." Feliks answered. "But it still hurts."

"Aye, it will always hurt. It means you've got a heart still. Not too many young people have those nowadays." the man said.

The crowd slowly dispersed. The gun dangled heavily, awkwardly at Feliks's side. He did not like the feeling of holding it. It was empowering, but he didn't know how Ludwig and Gilbert were desensitized to it. He tried not to think of how many innocent people Ludwig had shot with this gun. The cold steel suddenly felt filthy. He felt his fingers curling away from the metal, so the smallest surface would be in direct contact with his skin.

"May I see your pistol?" the father asked.

Feliks handed the man the gun.

"This is military issue. Where did you get it?"

"Huh?"

"My son. He showed me once, he had a pistol just like this."

Feliks blinked confusedly. All German pistols looked near the same to him. That, and the man that was speaking to him couldn't be over forty. Rather young to have a child in the military. "How old is your son?" Feliks asked.

"He had just turned fifteen the other month."

"Fif?- Ah. _Fifteen_. Yes, of course." Feliks recovered hastily.

The man cocked a curious eyebrow. "Forgive me for asking, sir, but how old are you?"

"Nineteen." Feliks answered candidly. It would only be a few months until he was twenty.

"You didn't volunteer? Or the draft, even….?" he trailed off.

"Uhm, no. They wouldn't let me. I couldn't pass the physicals. I like, have an injury." Feliks lied. He thanked God his shitty German didn't give his country of origin away, but Austrians spoke shitty German anyway. No sense telling this Austrian that Feliks would sooner poison someone of the Wehrmacht than join its ranks. That he was exactly the type of person the German army would be out to kill. But this poor man's son was hardly out of his childhood.

"I hope you heal well then. But hopefully not too soon." He placed a heavy hand on Feliks's narrow shoulder. He lowered his voice a bit. "You don't want to get caught up in this mess anymore. I tell you, Hitler's going to drive us all into ash."

"He already has." Feliks said with a sad smile.

The Austrian puffed out an equally melancholy laugh and handed him back the pistol, which Feliks took.

The Father's head flipped up at a slight clicking. He looked at the door on the long cement apartment building on their side of the street. Someone was fiddling with the knob from inside.

"Eloisa is coming back now. I bet she drew you masterpiece." he said more cheerily.

"Tell her I said thank you very much. But please tell her to stay inside. I must go now. Not far from here I saw a broken pipe with plenty of water." Feliks said.

"Huh? I'm sure she wants to give it to you. I've never seen her blush that brightly because of a young man before."

"Pour the water on the street. She shouldn't see the blood." Feliks explained. He shook the man's hand, and left in the direction of which he came.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert had risen with the sun, minus the cheerful shine. Elizabeta followed. And of course, Ludwig was up before all of them. Although Gilbert had spent the first ten minutes of his morning gawking amusedly at their melted car. Gilbert didn't know where Feliks had gone, probably having a grand old time pissing somewhere. Or perhaps he saw something shiny.

"You're _always_ hungry. We all eat the same amount." Ludwig said, after Gilbert had approached them on the matter of what to eat for breakfast. The three were all sitting on the sidewalk in a little triangle.

Gilbert huffed and crossed his arms, but he was grinning. He felt Elizabeta sitting next to him.

"If I don't eat something soon..." Gilbert hastily scanned the area around him for closest edible object that did not classify as cannibalism. It was just what people did, he supposed, when they got really hungry. Think about all the weird things they would eat. Or perhaps it was because he knew he would soon be thirsty, which was a far crueler and more relentless imperative than hunger. The object of his newfound attention was waddling just a few meters away. "I'm going to eat that pigeon over there." he declared, thrusting his chin at the unsuspecting creature.

Ludwig rolled his eyes at his brother's outburst. "How? Cook it over a cigarette?"

"Of course not! What a frivolous waste of a good smoke!" Gilbert exclaimed. At that wonderful thought he dug the partly empty packet of cigarettes out from his coat along with his lighter. It took the edge off of the hunger. He hadn't eaten in a day. He had dealt with far worse when serving in the Waffen with Ludwig before, but it was still uncomfortable. A slow type of uncomfortableness that was not starving, but a peculiarity wrought by not feeling full in a long time. He clamped the cigarette firmly between his lips and lit the end. He took a calming breath.

"Then what?" Ludwig asked. "You don't think things through."

"I'd just cook it over something else, you know? There's plenty of old wood lying around in the rubble. It would be a fun waste of a day, wouldn't it? Some other time? Just us four, sitting around a fire, roasting things on a spit, telling stories?" _Plenty of good German booze to drink too_ , he added.

"You'd roast vermin in the middle of the streets of Vienna." Ludwig stated flatly. It was a question, but his voice didn't go up at the end.

Gilbert playfully puffed a ring of smoke into Ludwig's face in response.

"Gotta do what you've gotta do." Gilbert said in a singsongy voice. "Plus, _you_ would shoot Gypsies in the middle of the streets of Vienna. Tell me now, which of us is the barbarian?"

"Both of these scenarios are entirely hypothetical. I find it likely to believe that under certain circumstances we would both do either. No one is accusing anyone of being a barbarian. Elizabeta, I hope you cook. Apparently the quickest way to Gilbert's heart is through his stomach."

"Give me a half kilo of beef and a wreath of paprika, and I'll make you the best goulash you've ever had. I can show you both when we're out of this." Elizabeta added hopefully.

"Hey!" Gilbert cried indignantly, when realizing Ludwig's jab. "I ain't _that_ shallow!"

"No. Of course not, brother." Ludwig said.

"It's like what that one writer said. What was his name? You would like him Ludwig, he wrote about dogs and wolves and things. It was all about survival of the fittest out in the Yukon and Alaska. He said once, _'A southland dog starves on the ration of a husky.'_ " Gilbert said.

"I do not understand your analogy. I am confident that as elite soldiers you and myself would be the huskies. And Feliks and Elizabeta would be the southland dogs."

"Gil, if I were to stand between you and Ludwig, I'd be the chihuahua."

"No, it's backwards. At first glance, maybe, but Liz and Feel are much more used to not eating than us because they were in Auschwitz. So that would make them the huskies in the Yukon, and we would be the furry dogs in California."

"I still think we would be the huskies." Ludwig said. "Or rather, German shepherds. Fine dogs, they are. Better than huskies. Gilbert, despite my initial surprise at you actually having read a novel, do you even know where California or the Yukon are?

"On the wrong side of the ocean somewhere." Gilbert said, taking another nonchalant puff.

"California is on the western coast of the United States. The Yukon is..." Ludwig's gaze lifted upwards in thought. But unless the answer was written in the gray clouds it wouldn't help him much. Ludwig was as clueless as he was.

"Face it Lud. You don't know something. The Yukon can be in Russia for all I care."

"No, I think it's in..." Ludwig trailed off. "Somewhere in the New World." he concluded dissatisfactorily.

"Oh, what was that writer's name? Stupid English names are too basic to be very unique. I wish I could remember. He died before you were born." The Prussian groaned. "Now I'm going to be thinking about this idiotic thing for the rest of the day."

"Jack London." A Polish-accented voice said, approaching the four.

"Feliks! That's it!" Gilbert exclaimed. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, balancing it between two fingers. "That's him! How did you know? And where were you, you get lost or somethin'?"

Ludwig looked up from where he sat, his gaze alone cutting off how Feliks was about to respond.

"Feliks. Something of mine is missing." Ludwig said flatly, eying the Pole.

Feliks stopped apruptly at this. His right hand was hidden behind his back. His left reached up to scratch his long blonde hair guiltily. "Uh…"

"I will be taking it back now." the German said.

Slowly, Feliks revealed his hand from his back. In his hand, gleaming, lay Ludwig's 39 caliber pistol. He stepped closer to Ludwig and handed the German back his gun obediently.

"Jesus Christus. Feliks, what the hell kind of piss were you taking?!" Gilbert gasped, gawking at the firearm in his thin hands.

Ludwig opened up the gun from where he sat cross-legged on the ground and slid the chamber out. He counted twice.

"Feliks?"

"Yes Ludwig?"

"There were five before. There is a bullet missing here." Ludwig noted, tone somewhere between an observation and an accusation.

"Yes, there is indeed." Feliks replied measuredly. Obviously he was making Ludwig fight for whatever information he possessed. Gilbert was still reeling along with Elizabeta over what on earth someone like Feliks would possibly want with Ludwig's gun.

"Do you have an explanation for this?" Ludwig asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope."

"No explanation whatsoever?"

"Just needed it."

"I was hoping for more than that, Feliks." Ludwig said slowly. His irritation was apparent. He loudly reassembled the gun. But Gilbert figured Ludwig would be finding out exactly what happened to that missing bullet whether Feliks helped willingly or not. Little did Feliks know that telling Ludwig now was probably better than letting the German mull over a punishment for the next several hours. Ludwig was good with that whole discipline thing.

Gilbert remembered one winter about twelve years ago he thought it would be fun to spray one of Ludwig's dogs with ice water. Upon finding out, Ludwig had come diplomatically to Gilbert with a written list of complaints, like a modest little Martin Luther, explaining exactly why harassing his dog was wrong, and why and how Gilbert should be reprimanded.

And for his troubles, well, Gilbert had _not-so-diplomatically_ reminded his smaller brother who was in charge.

Yet today Gilbert glanced at Feliks warningly. The Pole still seemed intent to keep them guessing as to whatever he so desperately needed that bullet for. Gilbert shrugged. "Let's just go."

"Where?" Elizabeta asked.

"We should find somewhere to stay. SS should not be sleeping on the street. It's suspicious, we have places to be. It was alright last night, because the bombs fell. But there will be no more sleeping on the street for us. We need to buy food too." Ludwig said.

"That won't be too hard," Gilbert added, rolling up from the cement and clapping his gloved hands together. "We'll just move to a part of the city that isn't bombed. There'll be places to stay there." Of course by this, Gilbert meant people to bully into letting them stay on their property. Or houses that recently found themselves without occupants.

"And we will head west. No more Vienna. I want to be passing the border into Liechtenstein in two days." Ludwig said. He too stood up and adjusted his cap.

Gilbert didn't respond, a mix of conflicting emotions were swirling in his chest at the mention of Switzerland. The end of their journey. Gilbert had to get them there, of course, to this strange new Ithaca of his. But more notably, it was _Ludwig's_ Ithaca. The German had made it clear what his intentions were once they arrived there. And Gilbert feared his brother would be dead within days of doing so.

Elizabeta started getting up with Feliks. Gilbert offered her his hand, which she took as he led her up. Her touch comforted him slightly.

The four began walking down the dirty gray Viennese sidewalks. Not sure where they were headed, but seemingly away from where the worst of the bombs had fallen. The rising sun was at their backs as they traveled marginally west. Gilbert noticed where a pipe had been burst from the night before, as the ground beneath it still appeared damp, but there didn't seem to be any water coming out anymore.

"Can we buy food now?" Elizabeta asked, pacing up beside Gilbert.

"If Elizabeta was not half-starved already, I would not let her eat." Ludwig said, glancing at the Hungarian.

Gilbert cocked his head. "Why would you say that?"

"She rewarded the thieves for stealing from us yesterday. She gave them five marks. That would be the price of her breakfast."

Why was Ludwig opening up old wounds at a time like this? Gilbert did not agree with what Elizabeta had done, but there wasn't anything they could do about that now.

"She's the thinnest of all of us. Who are you to decide who eats and who doesn't?" Gilbert started.

"Let the woman defend her reasons herself. You keep quiet, Gilbert." Ludwig said.

Elizabeta's frown deepened at Ludwig for cutting Gilbert off. But her composure recovered. "Five marks?" she responded. "That's nothing. What we _should_ have done was taken our stuff back and given Feliciano a few slaps on the wrist. Not beaten him within a centimeter of paralysis. I doubt that kid was over twenty years old. He was stealing because he had little other choice to survive, and I don't see how that is different from the questionable actions we ourselves have committed. I do agree he should have been punished, but he might die. I had to compensate him."

"Elizabeta, _in case you didn't know_ , I myself am only slightly over twenty. It is different because we had the means to defend ourselves and our property, and thus nature's inexorable right to do so. We should have at least killed his brother. I'm not saying that there's anything we can do about it now. But unless your name is Heinrich Himmler no one should ever speak to a German SS like that and live."

"And draw attention to ourselves? You said yourself upon entering the city we should try and keep quiet." She left out the part that Ludwig was only marginally a German officer now. No sense fanning the flames of Ludwig's anger.

"We were SS administering discipline. No one would have asked questions because of a few more bodies found on the street the next day." Ludwig said calmly.

Feliks quietly stepped forward. He looked down at the ground and mumbled something. "It's not good when things have to die when they don't have to..."

"Polack, what on Earth did I do without you around to point out the damned obvious all of the time?" Ludwig snapped.

"Enough of this! God knows when _I'd_ be the one who had to play peacemaker." Gilbert growled. Usually Gilbert was the one that started the fights. It was _his_ job to be immature, and it was one he proudly excelled at. He then saw something that made his heart thrum excitedly. He jabbed a finger at the building where the mouthwatering scent of roasting meats emanated from. More importantly, the hand painted sign placed in the shop window.

"Look! They're selling wursts! And they're cheap, too!" Gilbert exclaimed. He didn't know that butchers here had any meat to sell anymore. Probably some pack animal had died.

"I was here this morning. Where?" Feliks asked excitedly, swinging his head from side to side. His eyes locked on the title carved on the cement storefront of the building to their right. He turned very pale upon reading the German word there.

"Yes, we can do that." Ludwig said. He started fiddling with his wallet. The moment he slid a few grayish bills out of it Gilbert had already snatched them away and was dancing off towards the butchershop. As quickly as he had disappeared Gilbert was back, grinning, his arms laden with a chain of wursts in a paper bag. It was only afterward that Gilbert was wondering if there weren't so many damn other people around perhaps he could have just intimidated the butcher into giving him some for a discount, but his recent purchase left him in far too fine a mood to care.

Gilbert handed Ludwig back a single, two-mark coin as change. It was one of the older ones, with Paul von Hindenburg's copiously mustached face embossed on it rather than Hitler's. Gilbert then started fiddling with the packaging as he walked. "Liz, you want one?" he asked, pulling out a section of the chain and already halfway handing it to her.

"Yes, I would like some." Elizabeta said, accepting. Then she glanced at Ludwig. "If that's okay with _der Führer_."

"Eat." Ludwig said curtly. Although coming from him it sounded more like a command. At that, Gilbert handed him some of the wursts too. He then looked over to Feliks pacing next to him. He noticed the Pole seemed a bit pale.

"Feel, want some?" Gil offered. He snatched a bite of one of his, the first taste of meat opening a yawning chasm in his abdomen. A bit gamier than he would have expected, but not at all bad. Delicious, in fact! He swallowed and swiftly sunk his teeth in to seize another soft mouthful. His warm stomach swam happily with this new offering. He felt hot strength surge back into his veins with every throb of his heart.

"Uhm. Like, no thanks."

"You vegetarian or something?" Gilbert asked, dumbstruck. "You're Polish! Last time I checked Poles are famous for making sausages too. I'll admit they're even pretty good!"

"I'm not! I love sausages, I just like, don't want any of these ones. And uh, you guys might not want to eat any either, maybe."

"Feliks," Gilbert warned lowly. "If we've been harboring some filthy pansy animal-rights activist among us while a third of Europe's population can't even _feed_ themselves…"

"I'm really not! I'm just saying, since like, we're in a war it might not be made out of all that normal stuff..." Feliks responded lamely. His green eyes flickered nervously at some thought Gilbert didn't know.

"It's sausage and I'm hungry. It could be made out of drowned puppies for all I care." Gilbert said, tearing off a ravenous bite with his incisors. He felt the meat fall apart and dissolve in his mouth. He swallowed heartily. It really was good.

Poor Feliks looked like he was about to retch.

"Hey, you alright, kid?" Gilbert asked, concerned by his expression, taking another bite.

"I'm fine." Feliks said weakly. His face was very pallid.

"You should eat, Feliks." Ludwig advised. "We probably won't again until tonight or tomorrow. It will keep your strength up."

"I'm really not hungry. Don't like, worry about me." his voice was very defeated.

A shrug. Ludwig took another bite of his. "Suit yourself." Ludwig said.

The sausages were quickly disappearing as the four walked along. Gilbert was kind of relieved that Feliks didn't have any, it left many more for him and Ludwig who was also consuming a large portion of them. Selfish -he knew- but he wouldn't let them go to waste. He glanced over to Elizabeta. She had just finished the few he had given her. Gilbert handed her another. The last one, coincidentally. She took it. "Thanks, Gil."

"You are quite welcome my dear. Elizabeta likes German sausages, doesn't she?" Gilbert cooed.

"Technically they would be Austrian Wurstl, would they not?" Ludwig said from beside them, apparently not picking up on Gilbert's euphemism. While Ludwig was distracted by this Gilbert tossed the empty bag on the ground before the younger could complain about littering.

"Oh _shush_. I know a total of one Austrian, and I'm sure his sausages are much smaller than this. Elizabeta likes the big German ones. _Prussian_ ones."

"Knock it off Gil." Elizabeta warned.

Gilbert snickered. He had an obnoxious laugh, he knew. A rapid and grinding sort of 'keeheeheehee' wheezing that would quickly annoy even the hardiest of cicadas. He didn't mind it, although he was aware it probably drove anyone on the receiving end up a wall. But his merriment cut abruptly short.

Gilbert, right then, knew he saw someone familiar in front of him. He squinted to make sure he was correct in his assumption.

_How? Is that even possible? Why is he dressed like that?_

"Hey, you!" Gilbert called.

The man kept walking along, although his head might have turned a bit. The man's hair dripped down. He wore a simply collared, light blue button-up shirt. A vicious hunting knife glinted in a simple leather-strap sheath on his hip. The tip was thick and curved. Flesh cutting, serrated teeth sawed across the flat edge of the silvery blade. The blade was inset in what appeared to be part of the antler of some once mighty ungulate. Some sorts of North-Pacific tribal designs were meticulously carved into the exposed brown keratin hilt. Gilbert wasn't so sure why he was paying so much attention to the man's knife. Austrians had similar knives, but moose did not live in Austria.

Gilbert ran forward towards the familiar form.

"Where are you going?" Ludwig called. He sprinted after his brother. Confused, Elizabeta and Feliks quickly followed after the running Prussian.

The person was right in front of him now. Just walking along as if he didn't have a damn care in the world. What was he doing here in the city?

"Oi! _Alfred!_ "

As Gilbert's outstretched hand clasped on his shoulder Alfred whirled finally around. It was only then that Gilbert realized he didn't look quite exactly like Alfred.

The confused young man looked Gilbert up and down in his black SS uniform. Horrified eyes locked on the Iron Cross on his throat. The metal eagle and swastika on his cap. The crossbones and the grinning human skull. The man pulled the hunting saber from its sheath. The wicked, flesh slicing teeth on the side caught hungrily in the light as he raised it to Gilbert's abdomen. The eyes hardened with courage. The voice that met him was filled with rage and pain at the mention of that name.

 _"_ Qu'as tu dit a propos de mon frère?! _"_

The moment this stranger raised the knife, Ludwig sent a friendly hello in the form of a gunshot whizzing past his ear.

Gilbert did not speak French, and in his twenty-six years living in Europe not once had he heard a medieval dialect like this. But when someone spent much of his time living in the nation next to France, he was able to pick up a few basic nouns. One of these such nouns: ' _frère_.'

Brother.


	38. Chapter 38

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Concluding that pulling his own weapon at the moment would be the equivalent of suicide, Gilbert Beilschmidt was quickly figuring out several things:

One: Somehow, this young man was Alfred Jones's brother.

Two: He probably didn't speak a lick of German.

And three: Ludwig should be questioning in a few moments what was going on to cause Gilbert to scream out the name of a supposedly dead American soldier and chase down a random man who looked like him on the street.

As for the list of things he should be wondering? There was plenty to wonder, such as why the person in front of him was wearing the simple clothes of a Germanic civilian, and what on earth this foreigner was doing incognito in Vienna. But the main thought that was currently blocking the wandering stream of the Prussian's mind was if that little bit of crumbly dried blackish blood his eyes locked on that had coagulated near the base of the blade aimed at his gut belonged to an animal or a human.

This stranger seemed to show little to no reaction to Ludwig's warning shot, his raging gaze was solely fixated on Gilbert. He already seemed as terrified as humanly possible, all restraint already abandoned in lieu of anger-wrought adrenaline. His eyes searched Gilbert's for answers.

Gilbert knew well how SS were perceived by the soldiers of the world. The propaganda ministries on either side of the war had done a marvelous job at enforcing it. The SS were the fearsome German elite, ruthless pagan protectors of the thousand-year-Reich; unhampered by something as foolish as emotion or trivial as individual thought. Torturing for pleasure, dehumanizing the enemy that was nothing but game to be hunted down. Cutting off trigger fingers from corpses and live men to stuff as trophies, or ears to dry out and mail home to blue-eyed lovers as expressions of their valor. It was an image Gilbert would not deny. A year ago he was exactly as vicious. If anything, the projection was not quite enough.

Such it was only natural to assume that when an enemy SS displayed recognition of your missing Allied brother by face and name, it was because he captured tortured or killed him. Why else would an SS know someone.

This stranger did not attempt to hide the rage-hot tears that threatened to spill from his long tawny lashes, and for some reason Gilbert could respect him for that. But his watering eyes stared challengingly, desperately, accusingly, at Gilbert; hungrily in need of information. Just daring him to admit the conclusion he had drawn with the edge of the knife he held to his guts.

He felt Elizabeta and Feliks catch up behind him, staring confusedly. A dark presence poised itself at Gilbert's left side. The very reason Gilbert could not tell this man otherwise.

"Si tu tiens à ta vie, tu vas me donner ton couteau." the voice was Ludwig's. His gun was still smoking out the muzzle, raised right to this strange young man.

Alfred's brother seemed surprised yet a little relieved to hear familiar words flowing from Ludwig. Not that Gilbert had an inkling of an idea what words were exchanged. Speaking no French, his brain honed in on body language. The man started lowering the knife, then hesitated, looking hotly up at Ludwig.

"J'écouterai si vous me dites ce qui se passe ici!" he yelled, his fingers tightening around the hilt. He had a whispery sort of voice, it seemed strained and unaccustomed to performing at such volume.

"J'ai aucun idée sur ce qui ce passe en ce moment." Ludwig replied calmly. It was the slowly measured tone one used when approached a wounded, cornered animal. He held the pistol levelly.

"Et lui? Pour quelle raison se t'il approche de moi?" The stranger gestured at Gilbert.

By now, Gilbert had backed out of range of the knife. He quickly looked over to Ludwig. "When in the hell did you learn French?" he whispered. "What is he saying?"

"France is next to Germany and we are at war with them. Perhaps if you paid more attention in school, you too would be able to speak a useful language fluently. Or multiple, like myself. He's wondering what is going on." Ludwig lowered his voice a bit, his pupils flickering to Gilbert for a moment. "So am I."

"We can't talk about this here." Gilbert said. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. People were starting to stare.

"Parlez dans une langue que je comprends!" the stranger yelled.

"What did he just say?" Gilbert asked.

"He wants us to speak in something he can understand." Ludwig translated.

"He'll put up with me talking however the hell I can. Tell him that we need to go into that alley over there." Gilbert commanded. He knew Ludwig wouldn't kill this kid yet if he was curious as to what was going on. If Gilbert dragged someone innocent into this mess he was obligated to get him out alive. Ludwig barked something in French and pointed to the alley Gil had pointed out. Gilbert and Ludwig quickly ushered him into it, and Elizabeta and Feliks followed a distance behind. They backed in as far as they could and turned a corner, so the main street was not visible. The stranger looked around at the crumbled red brick and grayish cement circumspectly, but for some reason he seemed just as pleased as the Germans to be out of the open.

"Ask him what his name is." Gilbert said.

Ludwig hesitated for a moment. _"Do you speak English? In French I am not as fluent."_

 _"Yes, I speak English."_ Alfred's brother replied.

Gilbert picked up on the word English. Englisch? They were speaking English now too? Ludwig had always had a wet dream of an English commander surrendering to him. But they could be speaking in goddamned Chinese for all Gilbert cared. He could understand it slightly when written since the words were similar, like Ludwig's note when they had escaped, but he was nearly hopeless in speech. What a stupid language English was. It sounded low and flat, and lacked the sharp beauty of German. All of the words were just ever so slightly wrong enough for him to not understand them. He did recognize a handful of English words, but it seemed the only word that sounded completely in common with German was 'beer.' And at least the English had the good sense to steal that from the right culture for the job.

_"What is your name?"_

_"Matthew Williams. What's your name?"_

_"That's none of your business."_

_Williams?_ Gilbert thought. _Shouldn't it be Jones?_ Did he make a mistake? If this was indeed not Alfred's brother, Gilbert wasn't so sure how far he was willing to risk his neck to save him if he was indeed an American.

"Ask him if he's married!" Gilbert commanded. Anything to change his surname.

"Gilbert, he's even younger than I am!" Ludwig exclaimed.

"Just do it!"

 _"He wants to know if you are married."_ Ludwig grunted, glancing at Gilbert.

The shock on Matthew's face was apparent. His brows rose considerably. _"I'm barely old enough to vote! I haven't even thought of getting married!"_

"He's not married." Ludwig translated. But Gilbert had already deduced that just by the look on his face.

"Gilbert, enough. How do you know this person?"

"I thought he looked like that American Alfred. That's why I chased after him."

Ludwig glanced a bit sideways at Matthew. "He expressed recognition. He called Alfred his brother when you came up to him. I think we ran into his twin. Interesting."

Matthew appeared to be getting nervous with all of this German talking. _"I know you've figured something out. Can someone please tell me what is going on now?"_ he asked at Ludwig.

_"Give me the knife. Then we'll tell you."_

Matthew placed his weapon on the ground. He stepped on it, rather than placing it in the open between the two. But true to his word Ludwig continued speaking.

_"We thought you resembled someone we briefly knew. Explain what you are doing in Vienna. Lying will not be tolerated. You already revealed yourself when you recognized Alfred's name and referred to him as your brother. I know you must be a soldier."_

_"I was Alfred's navigator of a B-17 on a bombing mission over the city. Four days ago we were shot down. I saw he got out of the plane alive, I've been hiding in the city since then trying to find him. Your friend has heard of him?"_ Matthew asked, glancing at Gilbert.

_"We ourselves ran into some trouble. I believe we encountered the man you explained in the timeframe you described."_

_"What happened to him?"_ Matthew asked.

Ludwig released a cold smile. His brows rose with mild amusement. Nothing mocking, but beguilement was unmistakably sparkling in their blue depths.

_"We killed him."_

It all happened in slow motion. At these strange words Gilbert saw the kid's face drain of color. His lips twist up into a horrified snarl. Unadulterated, grief-stricken odium boiled from watery violet eyes which for a moment too long flickered to Ludwig's exposed throat. The eyes of a desperate man with nothing to lose. He saw Matthew's foot shift to reveal the knife. His fingers slipped from their relaxed position at his side, prepared to lunge for it. Ludwig did not see. Too fast for Gilbert to take aim.

Gilbert rapidly whirled affront his brother. At the cost of someone's life -perhaps more- it was time to come clean. Despite the language barrier he knew something of his mannerisms would have to help this kid realize. He threw his arms in front of him. Emotion was universal.

"Stop! Alfred is not dead!" Gilbert screeched.

Ludwig froze. The kid gapped at him, almost as if he had understood what he said.

"Alfred's… what?" Matthew said, eyes wide. He looked right at Gilbert, hanging onto his every word. His hand slid to hang loosely at his side, thankfully his weapon not curled in his fingers. It was only then that Gilbert realized what language Matthew had spoken in.

"You can understand me? Why haven't you been speaking German to us this whole time?!"

"I had Alfred teach me some before we went off to war. I wanted to see if you would talk about killing me…"

"Sly dog!" Gilbert accused. Apparently this Matthew was cleverer than his brother. He doubted that Alfred would have the restraint to only _pretend_ to appear ignorant. The westerner hadn't even shown an inkling of knowledge of German. In fact, it seemed he took every opportunity to dissuade them of the fact.

"The clever snake knows some German." Ludwig said. His steely questioning gaze turned to Gilbert. His voice lowered dangerously. "…But what I do not understand is why our dear Alfred is apparently not dead."

Ludwig had already looked at Elizabeta and Feliks. Their shocked expressions clearly betrayed what their words had not. That Gilbert's outburst was indeed true, that they had even been in on it. Only Ludwig was left in the dark. Four pairs of coolly colored eyes turned on Gilbert's lone sanguine red. Everyone's gaze was fixated solely on him.

"I…I did not kill Alfred that night in the woods." Gilbert admitted. He could hear Matthew breathe a sigh of relief.

"I saw you! The knife, it went down! You tore his jugular out with it!"

"No. It only went skin deep."

Ludwig looked at Gilbert confusedly for a moment. Neither Matthew, Elizabeta, nor Feliks interrupted. "You lied to me?" Ludwig asked.

"Yes. I lied to you." Gilbert replied simply. There was nothing else to be said.

"Do you regret this lie?"

"No."

"Then why, _do tell_ , did you not defeat your enemy when the time came to?" Ludwig asked. His voice became flavored with a different tone. Beneath his curiosity his voice was very measured and strained.

"Because I didn't need to." Gilbert said.

"I understand you sparing civilians and Jews, but since when did you care about sparing the life of an enemy soldier? This treason is foreign to me."

"I tried to kill him. But I couldn't bring myself to."

"He was half-dead anyway. An easy kill. Why couldn't you?" Ludwig pressed.

"It wasn't a matter of physical ability..."

"You have killed plenty of Russians in years past. What makes the Ami different?"

"He's not dif-" Gilbert was the one who had changed.

"Is it because he is American?" Ludwig cut.

"No. I don't care what someone is."

"Because he is Aryan?"

"No!"

"Why, then?"

"Because…" Gilbert searched for the words. A sudden rage surged through him, and the words swiftly began to flow from his lips. Escalating in volume.

"Because Alfred F. Jones was fair to me. Because he made Elizabeta happy. Because as much as I tried to hide it I knew his name. Because he wasn't just some inferior beast to kill while I was following orders of my country or in preservation of my own life. Because he couldn't fight me back. Because right before I was about to kill him, when I looked into his eyes, I saw you, Ludwig! When you were a kid!"

"I am nothing like that naïve, foolish, indulgent slob!" Ludwig's speech grew ever more vociferous with each adjective.

"Not now." Gilbert hissed. "Definitely not now."

Ludwig's right hand shot towards the knot of Gilbert's tie, grasping it and hoisting him up into the air. So fast that his friends in the alleyway could only watch. Gilbert saw his brother's powerful fingers curl around the Iron Cross on his throat, and for a brief moment he feared he would be tearing the medallion off. He felt his heels being lifted off the pavement as Ludwig lifted him to look him in the eye and pulled him close with a simple curl of his bicep. Gone were the nostalgic days of Luther notes and physical dominance over his baby brother. Gilbert fiercely resisted the temptation to lessen the pressure and hold his weight up by grasping onto Ludwig's hand. He was too proud. He met his brother's gaze squarely. But he couldn't hide his chocking.

As he struggled for breath he found himself noticing Ludwig's strong, straight, Aryan nose. The nostrils that flared in anger. The fiercely slanted light brown brows. The wide angular planes of his face. He could smell his breath. He stared into interminably trapping blue eyes…. Blue as Zyklon B residue. The perfect, handsome face of the Nazi party. And for the first time in his life, when faced with his baby brother, Gilbert felt a trace of something he might call fear.

"We will talk later."

With that Ludwig released him roughly and Gilbert felt his heels crash back onto the hard pavement. He inhaled sharply.

"Now, you will fix the problem you have created." Ludwig stated. He did not acknowledge his brother's gasping.

"What should I do?" Gilbert asked. He was massaging his throat with his right hand.

"Take the boy to the outskirts of the city. Set him loose from where we came in the east. Tell him to look for signs of the Russian scouting encampment. Or I will shoot him." Ludwig said. "And you will watch."

"Option one sounds fair." Gilbert said quickly.

"It is very fair." Ludwig agreed, closing his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He took a deep breath. It sounded like he was counting.

"Uh…"

"You will do that at the present Gilbert." It was a command. "We three shall remain in the city. You shall return to this spot in three hours. I will be waiting for you."

"Can I go with him?" Elizabeta asked.

"No. You absolutely may not. It is time you learned your place. I will be having a _talk_ with you two." Ludwig stalked between the two Easterners. And he looked pissed. The way he spat the word 'talk' made it seem like Elizabeta and Feliks were ten year olds about to learn about the facts of life. But Gilbert felt it would be even more unpleasant a conversation than that.

Ludwig turned back to the trembling foreigner. He appraised him haughtily. Ludwig then gestured to Gilbert. "This is Sturmmann Gilbert Beilschmidt of the German Schutzstaffel. You will be his prisoner until he releases you. Under the 1929 Geneva convention article 42 should you try to escape to your own army and be recaptured or attempt rebellion against him you will be held liable to the disciplinary punishments of his choosing, including death."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Ludwig was a master at twisting specifics to his advantage. The German army had long since stopped following much of the second Geneva Convention. And the SS scarcely acknowledged the document's existence but to laugh at its helplessness. Not to mention that the whole concept of taking Matthew prisoner was falsehearted on the grounds that neither of them were actually connected to the German army anymore.

"I understand." Matthew said.

"Good. You are required to give Sturmmann Beilschmidt your name, rank, and serial number."

Wordlessly, Matthew reached inside his shirt and pulled a pair of silver dog tags above his head. He showed them to Gilbert.

" _'Mazhew Villiams.'_ " Gilbert read slowly. The second thing he noticed other than the name was that hand scratched into this American tag was a small maple leaf.

"It's Matth-"

"Rank, lieutenant. Serial number 7421952 T44. Closest of kin-"

"Don't bother with his mother, the address, blood type or religion. It won't matter to us." Ludwig said.

 _Unless he's a Jew, dammit,_ Gilbert thought nastily. He handed Matthew back his tags, which he then hid inside his shirt.

"I'm going to have to take your knife." Gilbert said.

"Yes, I suppose you should." Matthew said softly. Gilbert carefully picked up the blade when Matthew removed his boot from it. He didn't resist when Gilbert patted him down for any additional weapons, keeping the knife in his hand. Finding nothing, Gilbert took a step back. He looked at Elizabeta and Feliks watching him.

"Go." Ludwig said tersely. He stepped in front of his friends.

Gilbert took a step back, caught a bit off guard by the coldness in his brother's voice. He bit back a protest. " _Fine._ I'll go. Kid, with me." he ordered curtly.

"Uh, bye Gil." It was Feliks who spoke. He seemed a bit nervous.

Gilbert nodded. He paced stiffly towards Elizabeta and embraced her. He pressed his face into her hair. "Do not do anything to make Ludwig mad while I'm away. I know how you are." he whispered at her ear.

"Don't let the American do anything sneaky." she whispered back.

"I won't." He brushed the pistol on his side with his free hand. She kissed him on the ear, and Gilbert then broke from the embrace, as if nothing more than sweet nothings were exchanged.

Ludwig looked at him. "See you in three hours." he said.

"You be fair to Elizabeta and Feliks while I am gone."

"You of all people do not need to tell me how to be responsible, Gilbert." Ludwig said slowly.

Gilbert had a feeling they had two very different ideas of responsibility. Ludwig wouldn't be unreasonable… right? He was a harsh man, but a fair one. Nonetheless Gilbert decided he would be coming back to this spot in sooner than three hours. A plan germinated in his mind, accentuated with a coy grin that crept across his cheeks at his genius. He only hoped he was right in his assumption.

He flicked his wrist and Matthew filed out behind him. He turned his head to see Ludwig lead Elizabeta and Feliks off in front of him further into the alley, like prisoners to their execution. He looked back briefly to catch Elizabeta's gaze, but she couldn't return it. Ludwig was in the way. Gilbert hoped she and Feliks would be alright. When they were out of the alleyway Matthew strode up to his side. He seemed curious to how his captor truly was when he was out of the presence of his brother.

"You will walk at my side. Do not make eye contact with anyone. You shall answer my questions quietly." Gilbert ordered. He doubted that that last part would be a problem with how quiet this person seemed. Gilbert did not want to have to answer any officer's questions. It was too easy to be approached if he made it obvious to anyone watching that Matthew was supposed to be his prisoner. Unfortunately, that left a larger safety risk for him.

"Yes sir." Matthew said.

He turned out onto another bustling street and headed east into the rising sun towards the edge of the city. People were swiftly pushing away rubble and going about with their day. No one paid them much heed. Gilbert thrust his chin up and straightened his back anyway. He wasn't likely to be bothered if he looked like he knew what he was doing. "Tell me, Mazhew, where are you from?"

"I'm from the countryside of southern Canada."

"You sure you're brothers with Alfred? He thinks he is American, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I am very sure."

"Then why are your last names different?" Gilbert asked.

"I thought all he said I had to tell you was my name, rank, and serial number?" Matthew replied.

"All you are _required_ to. Just because Ludwig is a stickler for formalities doesn't mean I am." Plus, it wasn't like Gilbert hated this strange Canadian. He kind of felt a little bad for him, actually. Gilbert had dragged him into this mess.

"Oh. Okay. Where are you from, Sturmmann?" Matthew asked.

"East Prussia. Then outside of Berlin, Germany. Bloodline stretching back to the mighty knights of the Teutonic order." Gilbert said, standing straight and jerking his thumb towards his chest.

"Oh….yes. Prussia. Right." Matthew said meekly.

"Kid, if you want to stay alive around me, you better at least _pretend_ to know where East Prussia is." Gilbert warned.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"East Prussia is a small Germanic state to the east of Germany. It's north of Poland, west of Lithuania, and on the southeastern border of the Baltic sea. It consists of the most eastern portion of the former Prussian empire." Gilbert recited didactically.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you for telling me."

They walked. Matthew must have sensed his irritation and thought it best to keep quiet. Gilbert realized he was still clutching Matthew's knife in his right hand. Gilbert pulled it from his side, examining it from up close.

"It's prettier than mine." Gilbert noted aloud. He noticed where an eagle was carved into it, along with a bear and a wolf and a few other things. It was positioned like the Prussian eagle, but had the big thickly lined beak and expressive eyes in the style of American natives.

Matthew paced up to Gilbert's left and offered a small laugh. He looked at Gilbert's knife on his waist. "Heh… got kind of a medieval look yours, eh? A bit melodramatic."

"Perhaps. Nazis are very ceremonial, German culture and so. I like it though. You'd be amazed how badass you feel strapping this thing on your hip. I felt like a knight." A dashingly evil looking one, but he hadn't minded.

Gilbert's gaze traced back to Matthew's weapon. He stowed it carefully inside his coat, hoping it wouldn't cut through the dense fabric. "Fine craftsmanship. Did you carve the handle yourself?"

"Yes. It took me a long time. It means a lot to me."

 _Sucks for you,_ Gil thought, _I'm keeping it_. It would be useful to have another knife among them, not to mention he could probably sell it for a lot if he needed to. There were plenty of artsy farts in Vienna willing to waste their money. At least before the war, but there were probably still some rich people around. Certainly if Roderich's family had somehow retained their fortune there would be other aristocratic old bags around.

"I got him with a crossbow, you know…" Matthew said softly.

"Got who with a crossbow?"

"The moose. It's made of a moose's..." Unsure of the German word, Matthew pantomimed a branching motion with his hand at the crown of his head.

"Antler."

"Yes. Antler."

"Well that's melodramatic. Just shoot things with a gun. It's quicker that way, ain't it?" Gilbert asked. What a strange man this Matthew was.

"But don't you want to give whatever it is you're tracking a fair chance?" Matthew asked.

"Nope. Death is death. Ain't nothing honorable about it. Survival of the fittest. Plus, I'm sure it would rather be killed quickly with a gun, wouldn't it?"

"If I were a moose I'd rather be killed with a crossbow..." Matthew answered softly.

"But hell, you'd have to probably shoot it a couple times. And if _I_ were a moose, and a scrawny kid like you came at me with just a crossbow," Gilbert adjusted his cap and pointed to his temple. He smirked a bit and closed his eyes. "I'd gore you on my horns."

"Maybe."

"If I were a moose I'd want you to kill me with a shell from a goddamn Panzer IV _._ " Gilbert declared.

"But if you were a moose, you'd be able to run away from a tank, wouldn't you?"

"Correct! I'd be a smart moose. I'd run. And then I wouldn't have to worry about getting eaten by some hockey-nut anyway."

Matthew didn't acknowledge the insult. He smiled softly, his eyes were staring far away at some distant western horizon. "A blizzard was setting in that day. We lived at the border of northern Montana at the time, me and Alfred. That's one of the northern states of the US. It's the second prettiest place in the world, I think. We lived right at the border with Canada. So a lot of the time I went out I was actually in our Saskatchewan province. I consider that my home. Alfred tried to go with me, to make sure I would be okay, but Al can be very loud at times. He's a fine shot with a shotgun, but stealth doesn't come natural to him like it does to me. So I had him stay home that day. And then I killed the moose."

"Ah."

"Sturmmann?" There he was being all respectful again. At least he knew his place. Perhaps this Matthew wasn't so bad. Not as obnoxious as Alfred.

"What, kid?" Gilbert grunted. He was instinctively a bit harsh when someone approached him like that.

"How do you know Alfred?"

"Met him about four days ago. He crashed out in a forest a while from here." It was about time he had asked. Matthew should be wondering why Gilbert wasn't being unfathomably cruel to an enemy soldier.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's alright. His right arm was pretty gouged out by some shrapnel, but Elizabeta patched him up finely all things considered. Alfred was very nice to her. And he wasn't cruel to me or Ludwig. I could respect him for that."

"I know you didn't afterwards, but why didn't you two kill him when you found him?"

"I might have. But we four were captured by a Russian at the time. Ludwig and I did some stuff that wasn't okay with the German army and we were running when that Russian found us. We told him and that's probably the only reason he let us live. And he was quite adamant that if we wanted to survive we shouldn't lay a finger on Alfred. Plus, even if we did kill him, it was Ivan we were really worried about. Alfred was too hurt to do much."

"Do you know where Alfred is now?"

"We escaped from the Russian, but I let them both live. We assume they're at some scouting camp in Czechoslovakia, that my brother mentioned."

"...Sturmmann?"

"Yes?" Gilbert answered evenly.

"I'm sorry I tried to stab you before."

"Hah! Well, I guess that's alright. I would have tried to stab me too, probably."

"I'm sorry… it's just, well, you're really only the second SS I've ever seen up close. And when you ran up to me, I assumed the worse with Alfred and…"

"Where have you seen another SS before?"

"I saw one back at our base camp. Some unit must have taken him prisoner. He was dressed differently than you though, his uniform was gray."

"That's an officer or someone of the Waffen SS. They fight alongside the regular army. The black uniforms are too conspicuous so they give them gray ones. Ludwig and I served in the Waffen in Russia and Poland a few years back. But then we transferred to do… something else. The current SS we're with is the SS-Totenkopfverbände." Gilbert pointed to his cap, and the little metal skull on it. "'Skull units.' Sometimes I wish I was still with the Waffen. At least if I were I wouldn't be so hopelessly without gear or weapons now."

"You'd probably be dead." Matthew said.

 _Probably wouldn't have met Elizabeta either,_ he realized. "What did you do with the SS you saw?"

"Uh…"

"Never mind." Gilbert immediately regretted asking. The Westerners were fairer than the Russians when it came to German soldiers, but no one –no one- took SS as prisoners. No one wanted anything to do with them. They would have shot that SS on the spot. He wouldn't have been missed.

"You said Ludwig." Matthew said, trying to change the subject. "Was that the man who spoke French back in the alleyway?"

"Yes, he's my brother. And I know he's a total fascist bastard, but Jesus Christ at least pronounce his name correctly."

"What? Was I saying it wrong?" Matthew asked, his tone already apologizing.

"Yeah. It's Lud-viikh. Not Luhd-wig. You're westernizing it, it's not how it's spelled in English. The U is longer."

"Oh. _Lud_ wig." Matthew said, correcting the first part of the name.

"Lud _wig."_ Gilbert corrected.

"That's what I said isn't it?"

" _Ludwig_. Gotta sink your teeth into that W more." Like… like whatever stupid things they ate on that side of the ocean. "Like you're biting into a hamburger! Yes! That."

Matthew cocked an eyebrow at this analogy. _Oh right,_ Gilbert thought. _He's Canadian._ "…A mooseburger?" he corrected.

A halfhearted laugh.

"Fine." Gilbert closed his eyes and shrugged his hands up in the air. "Pancakes, or whatever you eat over in Canada."

"Pancakes. They're good. Been a few months since I've had one of those. Is it a W sound or a V sound?"

"What? I don't fucking know, they sound the same to me."

"Ludwig." Matthew said, a bit differently this time. "How was that?"

"Not bad, actually."

"Okay. Am I pronouncing your name right? Gilbert?"

His name? Matthew cared. That was nice. He hadn't expected that. But perhaps growing up with his speech impaired I'll-answer-your-question-with-my-favorite-grunt family it could only be expected that Gilbert was not often exposed to people who cared about their enunciation much.

"Harder on the G. Softer on the R."

"It's a name in English too." Matthew chimed. "More popular in Al's country than in mine though."

"Of course. The Americans must have heard what a fearsome warrior and handsome devil I am and decided to name all of their children after me." Gilbert said with a proud grin. This earned another laugh from the Canadian.

"It's not that much of a popular name." the Canadian said. "It's still usually used by the descendants of the German immigrants."

"Splendid! Those are the best people in his country anyway, Mazhew! Fine taste in names."

Matthew laughed quietly again. "It's Ma _tth_ ew."

"S'what I said ain't it?"

"No. You can't make a 'th' sound. You make a zed sound instead."

 _Well obviously_ , if Gilbert couldn't make that sound it wasn't worth knowing. Gilbert attempted this pointless and elusive 'th' sound that Matthew had demonstrated and only succeeded in spitting. Which was bad, because he was really thirsty and he didn't want to waste any spit. He scowled. Despite its uselessness Gilbert Beilschmidt would not tolerate failure.

"How do I do that?"

Matthew tried it out again, as if to figure out exactly how. He nodded to himself as if deciphering it. "You stick your tongue underneath the edge of your top teeth, then you blow out a little bit of air between them." He performed it. Despite his words his friendly tone was neither didactic or patronizing. "See? _Matthew_. A lot of English words have that sound, it's very useful."

"You look like an idiot with your tongue sticking out like that."

"Try it. You won't be as clumsy after a few tries."

_"Mahtzew."_

"Not quite, almost there. You Germans just have to get your tongue out from the back of your throats, thats all. You can do it." he encouraged.

"You shut up. I am not a twelve-year-old learning how to kiss for the first time, _Matthew_."

"That was it." Matthew congratulated softly. "Good job."

Gilbert felt a small beam of pride shoot through him. He raised his chin and smirked. He had conquered part of this idiotic English language.

"How'd you get into the army?" Gilbert asked.

"Alfred tried to volunteer when he was fifteen. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor he went absolutely berserk. And he was a huge kid, too, I was almost afraid the recruitment office would believe him when he said he was eighteen."

"But they didn't?"

"Nah. He didn't have the right papers then. The moment we were out of high school we enlisted in the American army. We wanted to be together, so I didn't go to the Canadian one. As long as we fight, I decided it didn't matter what it was under. Al wanted to make sure we went before the draft got us. That was six months ago." the Canadian said.

"Did you like the army? I liked it a lot, at first. I volunteered fresh out of the Jugend when the war started in '39."

"It was tolerable at first even though training was really brutal. Alfred and I could handle it. But _this_... Running around in a city swarming with Germans unarmed and by myself is not worth the fifty clams a month they pay us, that's for sure." Matthew said.

"They pay American soldiers in food? That's bizarre. I'm glad I was with the German army. I don't want any fucking clams."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That's American slang for a dollar. Alfred taught me it."

"Can ya buy a clam with a dollar?" Gilbert asked.

"You can buy a whole bunch of clams with a dollar."

"How much is fifty dollars?"

"Say- two-hundred and ten Reichsmarks. They told us the exchange rate was one American dollar to 4.2 marks. But the cost of living is more expensive in Europe…. So I'm not really sure. Do they pay SS well?" Matthew asked.

"Meh. We were expected to take more occasionally, of course."

"Excuse me? When did they pay you the rest?"

"It was very illegal. But our type of SS were known to steal things from any Jews we worked with. Take watches and rings and things. You just had to make sure your commanders didn't see you do it."

"Did you take stuff?"

"In the old days? Sure I did. We all did. There was no such thing as an honorable SS."

"You use the past tense when referring to yourself a lot, Sturmmann." Matthew noted.

"Uh… yes. I'm not connected to the SS anymore in anything but experience and a uniform. But you know what I've been wondering?"

"What?" Matthew inquired.

"Why you're not dressed up like an Allied soldier. Where your gear and gun is."

"I got rid of them. An allied soldier alone in Vienna wouldn't last very long until someone found him, you know."

"Where'd you get the clothes?" Gilbert asked curiously. He would need new clothes sooner or later. His uniform was durable and let him slide with a lot of things here, but the only thing it would get him inside of Switzerland was a bullet in his skull.

"There's plenty of clothes lying around if you know where to look for them..." Matthew glanced fleetingly at the bombed buildings.

"Jesus Christ, don't say it like that! Those were good Germans. Were you raised by wolves or something?" Gilbert quickly started wracking recent memory to see if he had touched Matthew at any point, revolted. He and Ludwig would not be looking forward that.

Matthew only laughed warmheartedly. "Between Alfred's eating habits and being outside all of the time, I might as well have. But you should know that wolves have remarkably social family structures. They're really not brutish."

"Yeah? That's real nice. I bet you eat about as much moose as them too, Canuck."

"Only about as much as the German family eats pork. We Canadians pepper our diet with plenty of maple syrup too. We chug it straight from bottles, you know, and we perform an ancient ritual dance to summon grizzly bears down from the mountains to challenge them to drinking games around it."

"Yeah? Well ain't that just swell. You'll have to invite me to the next one of those." Gilbert snorted. He would try this strange Canadian maple syrup when the war was over. He would put its awesomeness to the test. Gilbert started chuckling, and Matthew eventually joined in.

Then the Canadian looked up at Gilbert, his eyes were very earnest. His tone nervous as he refused to look the Prussian in the eye.

"Sturmmann?"

"You can call me Gilbert, if you like."

"Oh. Okay. Mind f'I ask you something, Gilbert?

"Ask away."

"I'm s-sorry if I offend you. I'm just curious. You don't act like any Nazi SS I've ever heard about. And I thought you all cared about how people looked, especially the SS and all, and y-you look a little..." Matthew stared tentatively up into his eyes, but Gilbert realized he was probably just studying their color rather than actually meaning to make eye-contact. "Different."

"What's wrong with being different, Matthew?"

"Nothing!" he replied quickly. "But I just know that the Nazis don't like things different. They like things perfect. And the SS are supposed to be their role-models and all..."

"It's true that they only let Aryans in the SS, but Hitler's definition just means that you're white and not a Jew. They'd let you in if you had brown hair or whatever. It's just the blondes with the blue eyes like Ludwig who are the highest level of Aryan." Gilbert clarified.

"Oh. But..."

Gilbert figured out then what he was asking. He felt he could trust this reserved little Canadian, he would be dignified with a true answer. Gilbert sighed, a bit sadly, before continuing.

"Ludwig tried to explain it to me once. He understood it better than me, this eugenics stuff. He said it didn't really matter what I was, since it was all hereditary. If I'm albino -or whatever I am, maybe I'm just really pale- it didn't matter to the Nazis. He then started talking about chromosomes and Punnet squares and phenotypes and dominant-recessive genes... I really didn't know what he was saying, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. That eugenics nonsense has always been over my head. Essentially since both of our parents had blonde hair and blue eyes, if I had kids, those would be the only genes I could pass on. So the Nazis didn't care. I'd be wormfood in sixty years, I didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It was my kids that meant something. And their kids. That's what the Nazis think."

Matthew was quiet for a moment as he digested this. "That's creepy. I wouldn't want to live in a world like that. With evolution already all planned out."

"Yeah. Well, good thing it's probably not happening. That's what you guys are fighting for. Not all Germans are like that, there's a lot of good people in my country."

"Like you?"

"I'm not so great." Gilbert said with a chuckle. He recovered his humor a bit and smirked. "I'm kind of a conceited jerk, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you wear it well." Matthew stated.

"Hah! You know what Matthew? I think I like that answer! That must have been what Elizabeta saw in me. Something beneath my obnoxiousness."

"Elizabeta. Was that the girl in the alleyway? With the smaller blonde boy?" Matthew asked.

"Yes. She is the bravest girl I've ever met. I, I think I love her." Gilbert admitted.

"She seemed kind of normal to me."

"Well, you clearly do not know her, Canuck!" Gilbert bit.

Matthew seemed a bit caught off guard by his reaction. "Oh. Sorry. I just didn't hear her say anything, that's all."

"She's a little too brave, my Elizabeta... I fear she'll do something not too smart when she's with Ludwig. When Ludwig is mad he can snap the neck of a girl like her with a flick of his arm. Elizabeta is fast and knows how to fight but..." he shook his head as he walked. "She doesn't stand a chance. She's too weak. Feliks too, he's picky about what he stands up for, and rubs Ludwig the wrong way sometimes."

"I'm sure they'll be alright."

"I'm very worried about them, Matthew. Very worried. Ludwig has never acted like that before."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes?" he answered.

"What would you have done if I succeeded in stabbing Ludwig? Right before you stepped in and said that you didn't kill Alfred?" the Canadian inquired.

"I would have shot you in the head without a second thought, Alfred's brother or not." Gilbert replied honestly.

"What if I stabbed _you_? What would Ludwig have done?" Matthew asked.

"Ludwig would shoot you, dismember you, sacrifice your body parts to Germanic pagan gods, grind up whatever scraps were left into wurst and feed it to his dogs."

"Thanks for that, Gilbert. But what makes you think that you don't care for each other?"

Gilbert thought that one over. The brothers had started fighting when Gilbert had attempted to spare the Jews in that barn they had pointed out. And their relationship had been turbulent at best since then, but when circumstance forced them together they had proven their ability to coexist. But something about this most recent quarrel made Gilbert's hair stand on end. The way it was levelheaded Ludwig who had drawn the line. Gilbert had already defied the Nazism that his brother believed in, but in sparing Alfred it seemed Gilbert had done more than betray just Nazism. Also the fact that Ludwig had a problem with Eliza and Feliks for following his direction and keeping a secret during such a crucial time had left the German all alone. Ludwig had helped them get into this situation, saving their lives even, only to be betrayed.

"I don't know. I just hope he doesn't hurt them." Gilbert said.

Matthew didn't offer any more, and Gilbert was slightly pleased with that. As he looked around on the street he realized they were becoming more familiar. He could see the flak towers looming on the horizon, but they were still a far distance away. Matthew noticed them too.

"Are we almost to the edge of the city?" the Canadian asked.

Gilbert stopped walking abruptly and looked up. They were on a small street. Tall apartment buildings on either side blocked out much of the sun's light, although the sky was mostly overcast anyway. Pieces of paper and trash blew like tumbleweeds in the wind channeled between the narrow buildings. There were no people around.

"It was never my intention to take you to the end of the city." Gilbert answered.

Matthew was suddenly appearing fiercely nervous. His gaze flickered to the pistol on Gilbert's hip. "W-Where are you taking me then?"

Gilbert grinned hungrily, drinking in this fear as one would an elixir and ran his tongue along his dry lips. He released a cold, arid laugh. His right hand strayed towards his belt. "No talking. Hands on the wall, _if you please_."

"What are you doing?!" Matthew gasped.

"Shortening my three hours, that's what."

"What!? Sturmmann, please!"

Gilbert dug his pistol out and flipped it in his hand. He squared his feet on the ground, sliding them along the worn pavement with an audible _shhhhkk_. "You shall obey my orders! Now stand still."

"We had an agreement." Matthew said. His right arm kept twitching towards his side, where his knife used to be. His long fingers desperately groped the air, as if hoping for something tangible to materialize there. His wide eyes were quickly filling with panic. Darting from side to side like those of a trapped animal. The hunted little moose did not have the honor of death by a crossbow's bolt.

"Did you really think I would keep your indulgent American ass alive? Shit, do you want me to miss boy! You ever been shot before? Hurts like hell. Hands on the wall!"

"But I need to get to Alfred!"

"Alfred's got his Ruski. He'll be fine without you."

"But…but-!" Matthew stammered.

Gilbert started cackling maniacally. Pigeons started flapping away at the echoing noise. He stowed the gun. "I'm sorry Matthew. You looked so scared when I said I wouldn't be taking you to the edge. I couldn't resist."

A flash of relief crossed Matthew's countenance. Then, complete rage. "You bastard!"

"Yes. But I wear it well, don't I?" Damn, Matthew was scared. Gilbert made a mental note of his acting abilities. _Dumb kid. You can't have a conversation with someone and suddenly decide to kill them. He must have been taught Germans are monsters._

"I'm still not taking you to the edge of the city, though." Gilbert reasserted, after his fit of laughing at Matthew's fear had run its course. He straightened his uniform.

"Where are you really taking me? And the next words out of your mouth better not be 'the morgue.'" Matthew warned.

"Hah! Ain't neither of us soldiers gonna be so pampered with that. Nah, I'm taking you to a restaurant."

A quiet moment. A joking smile. Then "A restaurant? _My, Gilbert, I've only just met you._ "

"You shut up. What are you, eighteen? You ever been with a woman before? Is that even old enough to _drink_ in your country?"

"How old do you have to be to drink in your country?" Matthew queried, his previous humor evaporating into mild curiosity.

Gilbert blinked confusedly. What kind of question was that? "Eleven?"

"What's there for me at the restaurant?" Matthew asked.

"Come walk. I've burned enough time screwing around already. I'll explain on the way, it's just over there. You want a cigarette, kid? It'll calm your nerves."

"No thanks. I don't smoke." Matthew said softly.

"No?" Gilbert mused. "You should take it up. It's good for your health."

The Canadian and Prussian turned out of the dingy backstreet and onto the main boulevard. It was stupid, really, Gilbert couldn't just decide someone's allegiances on a hunch. But his instincts had rarely failed him before.

"So: that restaurant. You go in there. You see a flitty looking blonde French guy? You sit down at one of his tables. I don't care if you don't have any money, pretend like you do. You speak to him in French, and only in French, got that? Let a few odd things slip and see what he says. If you're not out in ten minutes I'll assume everything is alright and I won't need to take you to the end of the city. Otherwise we'll continue Ludwig's plan A."

"You won't escort me in?" Matthew asked.

"This is as far as I go. I ain't talking to no allied spy."

The shock was apparent on Matthew's face. "You think he's a-!"

Gilbert cut Matthew off before he could say that attention-attracting word again. "You get him to take you to the Soviet scouting encampment to the east. He should know of it. That's where that Russian will have taken Alfred. Do not allow him to take you back to your own army."

"I want to get to Alfred, but can I ask why the Frenchman can't take me back to my own base? Rather than the Russian one?"

"Just don't go back into the American army after this." _Hopefully by the time they sort everything out winter will be on too strong to allow any transportation between the two fronts. And maybe by summer this whole damn war will be over and I can go back home after Switzerland._

"Why?" Matthew asked.

 _Why?_ Gilbert thought again, _because I'm having a serious identity crisis if I should just end you right now if you're going to bomb more German civilians._ "Because I said so." Gilbert responded.

"Gilbert, please, I signed my life away, I can't promise-"

"You damn well promise unless you want me to change my mind right now!" He lowered his voice to a stern whisper. "I'm a traitor to the Nazis. Not the German people."

Matthew didn't answer. He looked up into Gilbert's eyes helplessly. Gilbert decided that was all he was going to get. He sighed.

"Right…Should you see Alfred you tell him to whom you owe your life. He's in my debt now. You both are." Gilbert said. For all the trouble Alfred had caused he had better be the first man on the moon. Or research a cure for cancer or malaria or a longer lasting lightbulb or something.

"I will. I'll tell him that you're all okay in Vienna."

"Tell him that we're all going to Switzerland."

"Okay. I will." Matthew confirmed.

Gilbert stopped walking. "We should split up now, so they don't see us walking together when you go into the restaurant." Gilbert pointed a ways down the street where the familiar green and gold awning protruded from the white streets. It was a little before lunchtime. "I'll wait just outside. Remember: ten minutes."

Matthew nodded determinedly. "Yes. Goodbye, Gilbert. And thank you. It was important meeting you, I think. I'd be looking for Al in all of the wrong places."

"Yeah? And now, thanks to you, I now know what 'clam' means in American, and that fifty of them are worth exactly two-hundred and ten Reichsmarks!" Gilbert exclaimed, his voice dripping with excitement.

_"Hey!"_

"Cool it kid. It was good meeting you too."

Matthew's voice took on a serious tone. "Gilbert, after the war, if you get a _trial_... you have them call me."

"We'll see."

Matthew extended his hand. They shook.

"Goodbye Gilbert."

"Goodbye Matthew. Good luck."

Matthew quickly strode ahead of Gilbert and disappeared a hundred meters away into Frenchie's restaurant. Gilbert followed leisurely, staying a fair distance behind. When he reached the door he halted several meters before it and leaned his back against the rough cement blocks of the wall. He lit a cigarette, crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and started counting the minutes.

* * *

**[original] Author's Note**

Hi everyone, Celt here. I hope the chapter lengths are not too long, because I never wanted it to feel like this should be rushed or skimmed through due to a sheer amount of content. I do try my hardest to get these out swiftly and consistently, especially given their length.

With all of these foreign characters I wanted to thank people who have helped me translate, offered to, or just politely mentioned in a review if I online translated and got something wrong. I also want to just thank everyone who reviews in general, especially the repeaters. It's really fun to get to learn your names. I wish I could thank you all personally like I used to. I would not be able to write this if it weren't for the feedback this has been getting, and I truly feel myself becoming a better writer and I learned a lot about history just researching for this, and I hope you have too.

CelticFeather


	39. Chapter 39

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Ludwig's face was emotionless, staid, soldierly. Elizabeta searched it desperately for any clues in the brief moment she had faced him. But she was swiftly turned around as he approached, Feliks at her left, Ludwig behind both of them. On either side was the ashy brick of the walls of the alley, in front of her, darkness. And somewhere in that eventual darkness, a dead end. Trapped.

The dead end took only a small moment of time to reach. As if by some silent communication Feliks and herself turned to face Ludwig upon reaching it, their backs facing the wall. Ludwig eclipsed the dim light of the outside world, blocking any chance for escape.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" Ludwig asked.

Again, by some nonexistent communication, neither answered.

Ludwig seemed displeased by this defiant silence. "Roll up your sleeves."

Elizabeta and Feliks looked at each other. Then looked back at Ludwig.

"Did you not hear me? I ordered you each to roll up your sleeves. Display your arms."

"I… don't want to." Feliks said finally, looking down.

"Since when was this a manner of what you wanted? I gave you an order."

She watched as Feliks slowly lifted his sleeve, displaying the soft veiny flesh of his forearm and the grayish ink of the five digits tattooed along its pale underside. Elizabeta simultaneously did the same, placing her arm out in front of her, palm up. She didn't like thinking about this tattoo. But her eyes locked on its small mistake, where Gilbert had turned the five in 152070 into a lopsided eight.

Ludwig paced in front of them like a Gestapo. He looked at their arms, although he already knew what was there.

"You are different than us." he noted.

"I'm not any less than you and Gilbert." Elizabeta growled, shaking her white sleeve back into place and letting her arm hang at her side.

"You absolutely are. By race you are, but that aside even more importantly as worthwhile people. Neither of you even bother to give back what has been given to you. How many times have I saved your lives since I've met either of you?"

Elizabeta and Feliks continued their angry silence.

"More times than I would care to count. Although you each have had brief periods of mild usefulness in this mission, what have you done for myself and Gilbert in return?"

"I've done _plenty_ when it comes to getting us food." Feliks rumbled darkly from her side. She didn't know what he meant.

"Let me make this clear. You two swine have caused the only damned thing I care about in this world other than my country to turn his back on me. Gilbert has lied to me. For your sakes. For your ideologies. I've known and been loyal to him my whole life, and suddenly he runs into you two rats at a filthy concentration camp and I'm thrown to the wayside. I threw away everything for him. My job, my credibility, everything. And what have either of you done to thank me? Nothing. I do not even require your subhuman thanks, a simple respect is what I need."

"I respect you." mildly. "I've accepted a true Nazi as my companion, despite hating everything they stand for." Elizabeta said.

"You! Hungarian! You give our money away to thieving street-rats while we barely have enough to feed ourselves. You are not a princess here. Gilbert might coddle you but I most certainly will not. This is war, there is no place for softness among us here." Ludwig hissed.

"Elizabeta's not soft! The fact that any of us are still alive through all of this can attest that no one here is weak! From what I heard she tried to smash in Roderich's skull with a block of cement the moment he spoke to her!" Feliks shot.

"And you, Polack! What the hell have you done? You've sat there, tagging along, giggling and playing pranks like a child. Had Gilbert not been in the room that day I would have had your head on a platter when you dared mock the Führer so. Not to mention you sneak around stealing _my_ bullets without permission and coming back without so much as even a simple explanation."

"Feliks is a grown man. Accept whatever he does as having a reason. Even if he was wrong there's nothing that can be done about the past now." Elizabeta defended.

"It is obvious that it is not my choice to keep you two alive. If Gilbert weren't with you I'd be in the barracks at Auschwitz, enjoying two meals a day, reading a good book and you two would have probably been worked to death by now without me so much as even knowing your numbers, let alone names. It is imperative you comprehend where _I_ stand, and where _you_ stand."

Elizabeta knew quite well where she was standing. In an Austrian alleyway, with her Polish best friend, and an SS pacing their only escape like a cat in front of a mousehole.

"You are each subordinate to me. This is my final warning. If either of you take one step out of line, do one more little thing to make me mad…"

Ludwig glared at them viciously. But Elizabeta wasn't paying attention to him anymore. She was watching a piece of debris blow in from the windy outside world into the still alleyway like a backlit angel. It was flying right towards her, part of a newspaper, by the looks of it. She caught the article as it tumbled towards her foot and likely would have dropped it had she not noticed her country's name in the headline. Her eyes glanced over it. This paper was no angel, she realized, but a demon.

It was wonderful news certainly, Hungary would finally be doing something right in this tumultuous war. Something best for her citizens, even if it was too late for most of Hungary's Jews. Unfortunately it couldn't come at a more fatal time for herself. Best as she tried to hide it, Elizabeta felt the emotion register on her face.

Ludwig looked at her curiously. "What is that?"

"Litter." Elizabeta dropped the paper to the ground, hoping the wind would pick it up again.

"Give it to me."

Feliks was staring at her now, eyes pleading and curious, but he seemed ready to do something. Ready for what, she was not sure.

"It's nothing." she repeated.

"I saw your face. Give it to me."

Slowly, hoping a gust of wind would carry the accursed article away before her fingers could close around it, Elizabeta bent down. Feeling Ludwig's icy gaze burning into her in this weakened position she picked it up. She handed the paper to him, purposefully not looking him in the eye. She heard him unfold it in his hands as she stared at the ground.

He read the date, _"December 31st, 1944…"_

She winced as she waited for the emboldened headline to flow from those colorless lips.

_"….Hungary Declares War on German Reich."_

She cursed Miklas Horthy, the regent of Hungary. Despite him and Kallay's valiant efforts and reluctant alignment with the axis back in 1940 it was all too late. She cursed the fascists and communists that had infiltrated her government. She cursed the blubbering anti-Semites in the Arrow Cross. She cursed the Russians and Romanians that had besieged her home city. She cursed everything about the war. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Feliks's face drain of color. She heard the quick crush of the paper in Ludwig's gloved fist.

"You traitorous communist whore!" Ludwig snarled.

Elizabeta took a step back. When she spoke she was surprised by how shaky her voice was. "Now Ludwig, be reasonable, I didn't do anything-"

"It's your people! They're so spineless it sickens me! Crawling to us to help during the depression! Sniveling to the English behind our backs to get away from us as soon as times get challenging! And now the worthless Russians, damn it!"

"That's not true!"

"The facts speak for themselves. You Hungarian mongols are nothing but traitorous dogs whimpering to the feet of whomever can give them the most! You could have lost with honor. Like what East Prussia is doing right now. Fighting until their deaths. The civilians in Japan are taking their katanas off the wall and training children to kill soldiers with sticks in case the Americans invade. The German Volkssturm will show the same valiance should the Fatherland be entered. But _you,"_ he spat the pronoun as if it were a curse. "Are prideless! Nothing!"

"We don't like the Russians any more than you do! My people have been through so much, they're just tired of war! There hasn't been anything for them to gain in this unlike Germany. They're looking for a way out."

" _They_ have been through so much? Was there ever a point in your history when a single egg cost millions of marks? Were there wives and children picking up their father's pay four times a day in a wheelbarrow because inflation was so bad? Hungary doesn't have any trouble compared to us because they don't stick up for anything!" Ludwig roared.

"I stuck up for plenty!" Elizabeta screamed. "That's how I got in Auschwitz in the first place! Fighting for the Jews!"

"Your Jews were only deported because Hitler ordered Hungary occupied by German troops as a result of collaborating with the allies! Hungary hates Jews anyway! Had Hungary remained on our side you and your damn Jews would have been fine for ten years!"

"I don't have a say in the decisions my government makes." she snapped. Ludwig should not take his rage out on the Hungarian among them. Today was certainly the straw that broke the camel's back.

Ludwig looked down at the announcement of the declaration of war in his hands again.

"Do you know what this means for you?" It was a question, she was sure, but his now-calm voice didn't rise in pitch at the end. She knew better than to guess at an answer. He spoke again.

"It means that, legally..."

She heard the crumpled paper in his hands fall placidly, serenely, to the ground. A feathery thump as the weightless newsprint alighted gracefully on the smooth concrete.

_Whumpf!_

The hard shriek of Ludwig's boot slamming on the pavement assaulted her eardrums, crushing the article with a sound akin to the snapping of an animal's neck. He dragged his right foot and the thin cellulose flared out in pulverized gray ribbons around his hard heel, crinkling in futile protest. The black boot stopped. If she looked closely she saw the big bold underlined German word for Hungary, **UNGARN** , peeking out from underneath the toe of his boot. The word was cleaved down the middle.

He glanced up from the paper on the damp ground and smiled coldly at her. An eerily Gilbert smile that would make a shark think twice. She hadn't seen it on the German before, and with the silver skull below the peak of his cap glinting dangerously in the low light, it was downright terrifying.

"It means legally I can kill both of you right here."

Elizabeta was quickly backing up. Putting as much distance between her and this livid SS she thought she knew as quickly as she could. What mattered at the moment was getting out of the situation alive. She was older than Ludwig. How old did he say he was again? He was young. She could outsmart him somehow. She had to. Elizabeta felt her mouth involuntarily hanging slightly open, putting her hands in front of her as if that would appease him as she backed away towards the wall. Under different circumstances she would have snorted at the thought. Appeasing a German. She would ask a Czech how well appeasement worked on Germans.

"You wouldn't dare kill us!" Feliks protested, stepping forward as she stepped back.

"And why wouldn't I?" Ludwig mused, licking his lips and languidly fingering the pistol on his hip.

"You couldn't! Gil… Gilbert wouldn't let you!"

"Gilbert is not here."

"You're bluffing! You still couldn't! He'd never talk to you again! He'd never forgive you!" Feliks screamed.

"He would be mad at first I am sure. But after a few years he would forget about you two."

The lightness of Ludwig's voice as he mentioned that disturbed her. Would Gilbert eventually forget about her if Ludwig killed her here? Would he find some blonde-haired blue-eyed Aryan girl to satisfy his needs with?

"Gilbert is an SS soldier. He signed up for this job five years ago because he _likes_ it. He is bloodthirsty deep down, even worse than I. Compared to him I'm a lawful saint. You two were nothing to him before he met you. Mere swine against his country. Useless mouths to feed. He would have killed you in a heartbeat had you even _looked_ at him the wrong way."

"He's changed! Gilbert is my friend!" Feliks defended, his voice breaking.

_Gilbert is more than my friend_ , she thought.

"You won't kill us here!" Feliks declared desperately.

Ludwig smiled a bit. "You are correct, _clever Polack_. I will not. Not for the next few hours, at least. Gilbert's absence has bought you each some time."

"He wouldn't forget in a few years…" Elizabeta whispered to herself.

"What was that, my little communist?" Ludwig asked with false sweetness, quickly snubbing out any insubordination. Even if Ludwig couldn't kill them without facing the wrath of his brother who was sure to return, he could still beat the weakened both of them with ease.

"I said you wouldn't see his forgiveness in a few years!" she repeated. She felt her voice strengthening.

"No? And whyever not?" 

It was Elizabeta's turn to smile.

"Because by this time next year, Ludwig Beilschmidt will be nothing but the name of a dead man and a few blackened bones in the fertile Russian earth."

His grin vanished. Sexist as the Nazis were she had to give Ludwig credit. He most certainly held nothing back when he smashed her into the brick wall at the end of the alleyway.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

A voice broke his blissful quiet.

"Good day, Sturmmann."

_Matthew, I thought I told you- oh shit._

It was someone else, somewhere in his forties, wearing an SS uniform. Gilbert's eyes swiftly found their way to the man's left collar patch. There were two silver squares embroidered on the black, facing diagonal each other like the dots on the two face of a die. There were two green stripes on his arm too. A dove head sword hung from his hip. An SS Oberscharführer. Well above both himself and Ludwig.

"Heil Hitler!" Gilbert stood straight and raised his right arm at the elbow in the abbreviated salute, sliding his heels together with a click.

"Heil Hitler." the Oberscharführer returned. "Got a smoke?"

The offending object still hanging limply in the fingers of his left hand, Gilbert could only offer a "Yessir," as he dug in his coat for the half-empty pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and handed it to the officer.

"Thank you, Sturmmann." he said, before sticking it between his fat lips. The man started fiddling in his coat for a lighter. After a moment Gilbert quickly procured his own lighter and neatly lit the man's cigarette in his lips.

"Again, thank you." he grunted, taking a long suck. _'Anything to get you out of my hair sooner, sir,'_ Gilbert fantasized replying.

"What is it you are doing here? Stakeout?"

"On leave, sir." Gilbert said, the lie flowing smoothly from his lips. He learned quickly it was best to just call everyone 'sir' in the army. The insignificant little word had gotten him out of a lot of trouble in years past.

"On leave? Why is it you are still in that uniform?"

Gilbert answered with the typical smartass soldier remark, which in civilian life would get a normal someone hopelessly incriminated, but due to the fact that officers didn't actually care why surprisingly worked in the army.

"I don't know, sir."

"You should be in civilian clothing. How is it that SS are supposed to be taken seriously if they are seen traipsing around Vienna in uniform when on leave? How are people to know when to be scared? Not to mention you will probably be ambushed by some thoughtless Jew-loving defeatists by yourself with just a pistol and a knife like that."

"Sorry, sir. I'll get right on that."

"And holy Führer, replace your armband, soldier! I don't give a damn what happened to it but get yourself a new one!"

"Yessir."

"You best." he huffed. The officer turned and swaggered away, sucking on his cigarette.

Gilbert leaned back on his wall, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been convincing enough that the Oberscharführer had not thought to ask any incriminating questions. He silently thanked Matthew for the opportunity for a little acting lesson earlier.

Gilbert crossed his legs over each other, watching the red flags flutter in the distance with waxy eyes. It took him a moment to realize that they were the wrong flags. Not the standard political Nazi flag with the red background, white circle and black swastika. It was the battle flag, which was red with a black Nordic cross and a smaller swastika at the intersection of the cross. There was an iron cross in the top left corner. He pondered the flags' reason briefly before shrugging it off. He occupied himself watching a swarm of pigeons fight over a thumb-sized crust of stale bread a child had dropped. He was rooting for this little white pigeon that was fighting hard. When some fat maggotty gray thing started attacking his chosen pigeon, Gilbert –with the grace of an expert- tossed the smoldering butt of his cigarette towards the assailant. There was a rattled squawk before the ugly gray pigeon skittered away as if the wrath of God were on his tailfeathers. The little white pigeon swept up the remaining bread, shoved it down its throat, and without a grateful look back fluttered away. Gilbert had counted seven minutes.

"Ahem, officer?"

Gilbert looked up at the noise, praying it wasn't the Oberscharführer looking for another of his precious cigarettes to wolf down. A well dressed blond was striding towards him, his wavy hair tied back in a ponytail. He stopped close before Gilbert and looked down at him, smiling genially. No one in their right mind smiled at an SS.

"All due respect officer, but you are scaring away my customers, _non?_ "

Frenchie. Gilbert studied him closely. "Yes. I suppose so. I apologize. My presence is not required here anymore?" Gilbert asked, formally waiting for a confirmation of his suspicions.

"Yes. Is not needed now, officer. Everything is well." He nodded at Gilbert. He winked one knowing blue eye.

"Yes...Good then." Gilbert said thrusting his chin up. He understood. He looked at the Frenchman for a moment, who returned his gaze amicably. Almost as if waiting for him to say more, but Gilbert did not know what he was to say. He waited for a hint but received nothing he could decipher but awkward, friendly silence. The Prussian broke the stare before turning and leaving in the brusque manner of the SS in the direction of which he came. He saw the white street stretch on in front of him, the Nazi banners fluttering from the stony walls of the official buildings. He realized for the first time how bad his head hurt from the thirst. He felt something heavy thump against his chest when he stepped. He pivoted on his toes and whirled to face the Frenchman again. "Wait!"

The blonde had started back inside the building. He stopped and faced Gilbert, his brows raised curiously. "Oui, monsieur?"

Gilbert quickly closed the distance. He slid Matthew's weapon out from his coat. He grasped the blade firmly near its base in his gloved hand, angled the tip towards himself, and discretely handed the waiter the hilt. "You'll give this to him, won't you?" he whispered earnestly.

Frenchie studied the hunting knife for a moment. He turned it around in his hand. "C'est beau. Yes, I will give it to him."

"Thanks." With that Gilbert left the restaurant behind him. He wondered of Matthew, but his thoughts were quickly honed on a small dark Viennese alleyway, and who would be waiting for him there. He walked down the lonely flag-lined streets.

* * *

Gilbert had to restrain himself from running into the alley. It had taken longer than he had thought to get back. The sun had passed its zenith, casting the gray alleyway completely in the shadows of its own walls. He quickly scanned the darkness around him for any signs of life. "Ludwig! Ludwig!" he called.

Blue eyes peered out from the darkness. Shining with an intelligent, animal-like quality. "Relax yourself brother. I am here. You are early."

Gilbert skidded to a stop. He puffed out a sigh of relief that he had found the right alleyway. But there were two people missing. "Where are Elizabeta and Feliks?"

"Not here."

"Where? Did you hurt them…. Oh God! You didn't shoot them did you?"

"I did not kill them." Ludwig said curtly. "The bricks would be messier if I did."

"Then what did you do with them? I want proof!"

"They are alright, I assure you. Well, Elizabeta might be a little-"

"What did you do to her!" Gilbert howled. He knew something wasn't right. He felt it the moment he left with Matthew.

"Nothing uncalled for. She said something very…. _Unintelligent_ to me given her situation. I became angry."

Gilbert wasn't sure if this was a confession or not, but it didn't sound apologetic to him. "You _hit_ her?!"

"I shoved her once. Yes. Feliks tried to defend her after I did. But I stopped him too."

Before he had made the command he realized his dagger was unsheathed from his belt. He lunged towards this unfamiliar Nazi-clad form in the darkness, the knife glistening a brilliant challenge in the dim light. "You hurt _both_ of them?"

Ludwig took a step back. To Gilbert's downright horror he realized he was pointing a sword at the only family he had spoken to in years. Gilbert sheathed his blade. There was silence for a moment

"Yes. Not badly." Ludwig spoke, his tone carefully measured.

"You can't just go around beating your friends when you don't like them!"

"They are not my friends _._ I instilled discipline where discipline was due."

"Where are they?!" Gil hissed.

"I tasked them with something to do. Something useful at a place we found. Enough of this, we will see them soon. Did you hear the news?"

"Hear what news?" Gilbert asked. Of course he didn't hear any goddamned news.

"They declared war."

"Who declared war?"

"Hungary."

"On us?"

"Yes, on us."

"Oh..." Gilbert trailed off. "I guess that would explain the flags, then."

"The flags?" Ludwig queried.

"They were flying the battle flags in some places. With the cross."

" _Battle flags?_ Is that all you have to say on the matter?" Ludwig asked in disbelief.

"What do you mean 'is that all I have to say?' Is there something else to be said?" Gilbert questioned.

"You're not angry?"

"Why would I be mad? It was bound to happen sometime. I don't think even when we were allied the Hungarians liked us much. They just liked us better than Stalin. And now the Russians are gonna kill em for it."

Ludwig shook his head. "I haven't been able to understand you recently. The whole empire is furious. We'd probably attack if we didn't have far bigger things to worry about. You did deliver the Allied Lieutenant?"

"Yeah. I dropped him off."

"Did you figure out where he got his clothes from?"

"He took them from people who didn't need them anymore."

A small flash of surprise crossed Ludwig's features as he understood. He frowned. "How long ago did you finish before you turned around?"

"About an hour ago."

"Good." Ludwig said. He looked up at the sun. "He should be dead by now."

"What?"

"Do not play dumb Gilbert. Walking alone on that road is a death sentence for a foreigner. Any German officers driving down would have seen how suspicious he was an asked for his papers. As soon as they recognized his accent and discovered his tags he would have been dealt with." Ludwig voiced, closing his eyes.

"You Nazi bastard! You knew that all along?" Gilbert gasped.

"Of course I knew that when I gave you the orders. It took him out of the picture while still allowing myself time to converse with Elizabeta and Feliks without your interference. Gilbert, he is an enemy soldier. He is not any different from another! Why are you so adamant about sparing them?"

"Good God! Jesus Christ, Ludwig you're a goddamned murderer! The kid couldn't cause any harm now, he didn't even have a gun!"

"Gilbert, you really must stop going on about Jesus and God in each of your speeches. If they really were around they certainly would not drop everything to help an SS soldier just because he called their names at every insignificant instance."

"You know what Ludwig?" Gilbert asked. He felt his lips pull back over his teeth, but he wasn't sure if it was in a snarl or a smirk.

"What?"

"I didn't put him out on that road. Matthew Williams is enjoying fine wines as we speak."

"You did not take him to the edge of the city? You disobeyed me?!"

"I took a shortcut because I wanted to get back here before you could do something to Liz and Feel. I'm too late for that, but at least the lost kid still is alive!"

"Where is he!? What did you do!?"

"Sure as hell not telling you!" Gilbert shot. He had never seen his brother so deceitful. Ludwig was usually very straightforward. Gilbert wouldn't lie to his brother like that. Except for, well...

Ludwig shook his head. "This is ridiculous! This is our land, he shouldn't even be here! America has nothing to do with this warfront geographically. If we two were invading on the banks of the Mississippi River, instead of them on the Danube; maybe _then_ I could comprehend you letting him go. Even if I didn't approve. But-"

"He's Canadian." Gilbert said.

"What?"

"Mississippi. That's in America. Matthew is from the Saskatchewan province of southern Canada. Not America."

"He could be from Mexico for all I care. He's on our land! He shouldn't be here, and you shouldn't be merciful to an enemy! He's probably killed more Germans than he can count!" Ludwig exclaimed.

"Yes. And we've killed Russians too, and I don't regret doing that, but-"

"You're nothing but a foolish wolf who befriended a few sheep in the form of Elizabeta and Feliks. But _this_ , this _Matthew_ , this _Alfred_ , they are not sheep. They are wolves too. Enemy wolves. They cannot be awarded the mercy of the sheep because they are a threat to us." Ludwig said.

"I am not a child, I don't need your fancy analogies to realize things! They were fair to us and weren't a threat anymore. We deserted the army anyway. That's why I let them live!"

"Maybe they weren't a threat to you, but they will keep doing what they signed up to do: kill Germans. This is selfish of you, Gilbert. You've always been selfish, but never before was your country a factor in it. I had to step in. Next thing I know you'll be telling me you spared the Russian too!"

Gilbert recovered his shocked expression quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

Ludwig's arms fell to his sides. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly agape. "Please, Führer, tell me you didn't."

Gilbert was quiet.

"Why?!" Ludwig screeched, his voice filling with the final betrayal. The Russians were more wretched than all of the western allies combined.

"I didn't plan to," the Prussian said, "but Alfred kept thumping around, he was trying to tell me not to kill him. Because if Ivan died then Alfred would be doomed too and that would break my word to Elizabeta and Alfred looked just like when you were little and I couldn't bring myself-"

Ludwig was astounded. To Gilbert's surprise his brother started laughing. A very scary, forced laugh. "Gilbert, we could have killed your Canadian too! All we need to do is spare a Brit and a Frenchman and we would have ourselves a full set! A full set of allies owing SS their lives!"

"I'm not an SS Ludwig. It just happened, and that's what I thought was best."

Ludwig became deadly serious again. "You wouldn't have done this three months ago. It's all _her_ fault. She's changed you. Damned you."

"Elizabeta isn't at fault." Gilbert defended. "I made my own decisions."

"I should have shot her. Shot her dead the moment I found her in our room..."

"You wouldn't dare!" Gilbert howled, stepping forward.

Ludwig held his ground. "If I could go back in time I would have killed her in an instant. Now the only person in the world I care about has turned his back on the only other thing in this world I care about: my country."

"Lud." Gilbert's voice warned him to stop.

"The allies could have killed me, Gilbert! Killed both of us and Elizabeta and Feliks too."

"I do care about you, Ludwig. A lot! That's why I want so bad for you to stay with us in Switzerland. So we can go back to the good old days! Forget about all of this!"

"I could understand you when you turned your back on Nazism. You thought that the Nazis and Germany were different things. You liked one, not the other, but I could still tolerate that. To me, there is not a difference. Since your allegiances were still to Germany it was tolerable. Then you went to save those Jews in the barn. The _Nazis_ are at war with the Jews. Now, you saved these allies. But _Germany_ is at war with these countries. And you let these enemy soldiers just walk away."

"It's only just three men. Two of them not even twenty."

"The numbers are insignificant! It is the fact that you did that means something. Do you know what Alfred and Ivan are doing as we speak?" Ludwig questioned.

"What are they doing, Ludwig?"

"Sipping vodka in some Russian encampment, discussing how they can best slaughter more Germans. The Ami is eating all of their food and the Ruski is fantasizing about how many German women he'll rape when he gets to Berlin." he answered bluntly.

"They're soldiers _-young men-_ just like us. They're playing cards and talking about their girls back home." Gilbert countered.

Ludwig showed no sign of hearing. "But when I get to back to war, I'll avenge your mistake and restore our honor. I will kill a hundred of each of their nationalities for every one you have spared." Ludwig declared.

"How am I going to live with myself when you die, Ludwig? Still hating me for something as inconsequential as this?!"

"Blissfully ignorant, in a cottage in the alps, with your Hungarian whore cooking game that you've killed alongside your retarded Polack servant. You can all weave baskets together." Ludwig sneered.

"You don't mean that Ludwig." Gilbert whispered. "I know you don't. You're just mad..."

"I am as angry as I have ever been in my whole life. But I assure you I mean every word I have said today."

This crushed Gilbert. Crushed his smiling cold, cocky heart into a messy, pulpy, throbbing wreck. Ludwig's steady blue gaze blazed into him, he could see in his eyes that Ludwig had no question of who he was. Gilbert was jealous of him for it. Had Gilbert really betrayed Germany? He loved his country. He had only done what felt best to him at the time. He had not meant to go against his entire people.

He winced at the thought, as if struck.

"I'm not a traitor to Germany."

Ludwig turned on him, his steady azurite gaze raptorlike and unflinching. His voice was hard.

"Yes Gilbert. You are a traitor to Germany, the Province of East Prussia, and your brother."

Ludwig sounded so definite. Those unflinching words made Gilbert want to run away. To run from this alley and never come back, just let Ludwig try and catch him. To scream his feelings into a nonlistening sky. To go back ten years before he even thought of soldiering, and skip the next week of his life all together. He wanted to be alone, and to feel Elizabeta's arms all at once. But below his emotions he knew he couldn't do any of that. He loathed the helplessness of it all.

Ludwig sensed his silence. "We are done here. You will come with me to where we are staying now."

Gilbert would have asked where he was taking him. But he didn't much feel like speaking to Ludwig.


	40. Chapter 40

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

They walked for an hour or so, farther apart than was natural. Silent and unexpressive as SS should be. Gilbert found the usually grary and majestic streets of Vienna to project a dark coldness. They traversed the old Floridsdorf Bridge over the Danube and he realized that Ludwig was leading him west, towards buildings increasingly more affected by the bombings. And closer to the country where they were headed.

"Stop." The larger blond said.

Gilbert halted next to Ludwig in front of what was a reasonably destroyed house. He could understand why anyone less desperate than them would abandon it. There were holes in the walls and part of the ceiling was blown off. But there was something about it, something charming and familiar in a way, which made Gilbert smile a bit. The large pale rectangular blocks. The sloping gray peaked roof. The way the damage from the bombs almost made the parapet staggered, as every few blocks had fallen out, like the top of fortress from a storybook. Where men could run across and shoot arrows from between the gaps.

"It's the Hohenzollern castle." Gilbert noted to himself, laughing hollowly.

"It is a disgrace to be compared with such."

They opened the door and stepped in. The house, this sadly named castle, the old German castle of Friedrich Wilhelm IV, was falling to pieces and scarcely furnished to say the least. Broken and crooked picture frames littered the walls along with hanging pots and pans. There was a large lightly colored wooden table in front of him, with one single, lonely wooden chair. Anything else had been looted. In the distance he saw the doors to two rooms he assumed were bedrooms. No signs of an intact bathroom. The dwelling was cold and drafty and dusty.

The quickest thing he noticed was that there was a case of beer on the table. Condensation was dripping down the sides of the unmarked, liquid gold filled bottles. His eyes locked on it. His throat burned for it. Gilbert wondered briefly if his dehydration was so bad that he was fantasizing.

"Gilbert!" Two relieved simultaneous voices cracked the air. He heard the shifting and clunking of various furniture. Elizabeta ran to embrace him.

The clicks of Ludwig's boots stopped next to his. Elizabeta stopped in her tracks. Ludwig spoke, his voice dripping with irritation. "For this once, _alcohol_ is not what I meant."

"Whaddaya mean it's not what you meant! You told us to find us something to drink! And that's what we did!" Feliks yelled. He sat up from the single wooden chair to stare Ludwig in the eye.

"The saline salinity of beer is slightly higher than the ratio of salt in your blood in a normal situation. That is why after you go drinking you become hungover: dehydration. Idiots, you cannot even do something as simple as that correctly."

"Well, we like, couldn't find a fountain with water that was working nearby! All of the pipes are totally burst from the bombs! We can't bring you what doesn't exist. So when Elizabeta said we should search some of the broken houses nearby that's what we did! And then we found these in someone's cellar!" Feliks defended.

Ludwig huffed. He strode to the table and snagged three of the glass bottles by their necks in the fingers of his left hand. He marched towards the far end of the room and opened a door.

"I will be in here. Do not disturb me unless necessary." The door slammed shut.

"I'm glad you two found some beer." Gilbert said finally. He was over by the wall and started straightening all of the tilted picture frames at perfect right angles. It had been a long time since he was allowed to straighten pictures. It was a deadly habit in the army. Sometimes the people in hostile Polish or Russian towns would rig explosives behind pictures in abandoned buildings to trigger when the frame was moved, knowing how orderly the typical German soldier was. A cruel joke.

"Gilbert!" Elizabeta called again. She hurled herself into his arms, sending Gilbert backwards a few steps as he fought for balance.

He held her tight. "Eliza, Feliks! What happened?"

Feliks slid up to lean against the wooden table, one of the beers in his hand in an oddly badass and very un-Feliksy looking image. The only problem was that his pinky was up. He took a sip. "Lud wanted to talk to us about our lying. Then he found out how Hungary declared war. And he got mad at Elizabeta. He said he would kill us."

"How did you get out alive?"

"He said he wouldn't because you would get mad. He was afraid of you."

He noticed Feliks's slightly favored way of which he leaned against the table.

"You're hurt. Both of you." Gilbert noted. It was more of an observation than a question. But he was glad that there were no open wounds. Ludwig was capable of much, much worse. "What initiated that?"

"He got mad about the war. I smiled and told him he'd be dead by the Russians in a fortnight."

"Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid?"

"Sorry. I was mad too. Couldn't resist." came the reply. She didn't sound very apologetic. "Feliks was brave. He stood up and punched Ludwig right in the jaw after he hurt me."

Gilbert raised a skeptical eyebrow as he turned his gaze on the aforementioned Pole. "Did he really?"

Feliks smiled abashedly and looked down. He rubbed his shoulder. "Didn't work very well."

Poor, _stupid_ , Polish bastard….

"You took that Matthew to the road?" Elizabeta's voice broke him from his judgment on Feliks.

"No." Gil lowered his voice, just in case his Ludwig could somehow hear. "I took a shortcut and gave him to that French spy. That saved his life, for now. Ludwig sent him on the road knowing that Germans would find him."

"French spy?" Elizabeta asked.

"The shady waiter at the restaurant. With the real French accent."

She blinked. Perhaps she didn't remember. "Oh."

Gilbert marched to the table and plucked a beer from the crate. Gil didn't care about this science talk: he was thirsty. His head had started to hurt. He felt like his overworked heart was trying to pump viscous red Canadian maple syrup through his veins. Whatever the _'saline-salinity'_ of beer was he decided it certainly had to be lower than what his blood was right now. He gripped the cap under his knife and broke it off, swiftly downing gulps of the amber liquid. It was cloudy and probably brewed by some dirty amateur looking to make some money in his basement.

It. Was. Amazing. He finished the bottle in about a minute before reaching for another. He swilled half of that one before letting it hang loose in the fingers of his left hand.

"Elizabeta." he breathed. "Come here."

And then, to Eliza's credit, she gave him the tightest hug her arms could manage. It was wonderful for a moment. It almost made his feelings about Ludwig wither away for a second. The only thing that made it less perfect was that a moment later, Feliks took that as an invitation for a group hug too.

"Alright, alright!" Gilbert snapped, shoving the little Pole off of him. But Feliks held on like a barnacle. He leaned up on his tip-toes to Gilbert's ear and whispered. "Gil?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the Pole's obviousness. "Yeah, Feel?"

"That whole fixing Ludwig thing…. hurry up on it, will you?"

Gilbert wasn't prepared for the surge of guilt that speared him at those words. "Yeah."

Not like he had any idea how to do that.

"We can fix him. Anything that is broken can be fixed. My father used to tell me that." Gil said louder. Of course... "Dad had been referring to old wooden toys I broke and a bent fishing rod at the time, but I'm sure the metaphor's transferable."

Feliks looked at him skeptically. Perhaps he didn't know what a metaphor was.

"I won't let him go to war. I'll tie him down in a cot when we get to Switzerland!" Gil declared.

"Uh huh..." Feliks said, picking his nails with a sharp bottle cap. Gilbert frowned.

"You know what I don't understand?" Gil voiced, pacing over to sit on the table.

"What?" Feliks asked.

"Why Ludwig didn't kill you anyway."

"Hm?" Elizabeta said, crossing her legs. "You."

"He could have just killed you two and ran. Ditched his belongings and ran to some recruitment office somewhere with a made-up name. But he didn't..."

"Stop thinking that there's something nice about him beneath all of that." Elizabeta huffed. She crossed her arms. "He was probably just afraid of you, that's all."

" _Someone's_ got her Richelieu in a twist!" Gilbert observed. She scowled at him. Gilbert stood up again and sighed.

"I'm gonna go on a walk." he said standing up. He needed to think. Elizabeta and Feliks both looked up at him.

"I hadn't meant to upset you. Do you want us to come with you?" Elizabeta asked genuinely, her green eyes softening.

"Nah. I'll just go by myself."

"Hey, like, go buy some bread while you're out." Feliks said, flipping his hand.

Gilbert's eyes flickered to the closed door. "Lutz has the money."

"But you're the only one he'll listen to!"

"I think I'm the person on the face of the earth he wants to talk to least right now." Gilbert responded.

"It's not bothering! We're just taking what we need. Lizzie, with me. I'll go see." Feliks gestured with his little finger, and Elizabeta stood up. She looked at Gilbert confusedly, and Gil just shrugged. Gilbert watched Feliks tiptoe over to Ludwig's door, open it for Eliza, and then slipped inside after her. He closed the door behind him. A moment later he and Elizabeta came out again. In Feliks's hand was Ludwig's wallet.

"He was sleeping." Feliks said simply.

"I doubt that." Gilbert huffed.

"Uh huh." Feliks said. Gilbert looked at Elizabeta too, and she just nodded. "Now take this and scram." Feliks said, elbowing him playfully. Gilbert took it and walked out of the door.

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"I wish he would let us come with him, Feel." Elizabeta eventually sighed.

"I wouldn't worry about him. He just needs a little time to himself." Feliks replied. Feliks looked over to her, then looked back at Ludwig's door. "What I'm wondering is, y'think Lud's really asleep?" he asked her.

"Why wouldn't he be? He would have stopped us from taking the money if he wasn't." she said. Ludwig looked pretty passed out to her when they had walked in.

"Well, we have to eat and he knows that. And unless we want to go with Gilly's survivalist hey-lets-eat-pigeons plan, which for the record I seriously don't want to have to do; that requires money. Which Lud knows he has to give to us. But is too proud to. So he pretended to be asleep knowing we would take it. Which saves him the whole awkward 'hi sorry for hurting you here is some money for your hungry tummies my dear _jewlovers_.' moment. "

She wasn't so sure about that. But she smiled coyly and elbowed him a bit. "Maybe he _is_ awake? Draw a mustache on him and find out."

"Hell no! Girl, I am _not_ doing that again!" Feliks squawked.

She burst into laughter at his tone, and the visage of the Polish boy giving her a cockeyed expression with homemade beer held girlishly, with bent wrist and just his finger pads touching the bottle, in his right hand.

Feliks giggled too. "It's days like today that makes me really wish I was Jewish."

"Congratz Feliks. In nineteen forty-four I think you're the only European out of the two billion people in the world who has said that."

"Because." He glanced at the door. "Then I would have a better excuse to kill Ludwig while he slept."

She almost coughed up the beer that had entered her throat as she forcibly exhaled. _"What?!"_

"Just food for thought." Feliks said, shrugging nonchalantly. After a moment Elizabeta agreed. What a fine way to vent her anger on the German! Even if it was only fantasy…

"Could we do it with his gun?" Feliks asked.

"Does he sleep with it? Could we get it off of him?" she added quickly.

"Dunno." the Pole whispered. "Could we try to take Gilbert's gun?"

"I don't know how well he would react to us using his gun to kill his own brother." she said hesitantly.

"Hmm…" Feliks mumbled dejectedly. He drummed his fingers on his gray slacks and pursed his lips.

"I've got an idea." Eliza said suddenly. "Do you remember what they did to people who stole food from each other back at the Auschwitz camps?"

Feliks looked up in thought, but after a moment shook his head. "I never saw the guards punish anyone because of that."

"Not the _guards_. They didn't care if we stole each other's food, they thought it was funny. But most people in the face of that didn't want to be reduced to animals stealing food. We didn't want the guards to think they were right. What the prisoners did to the other prisoners who broke that rule."

"What did they do?" Feliks asked, perking up straighter and quirking and eyebrow.

"I heard it happen once, but I didn't figure out what I was hearing until I heard some of the veterans talking about it the next day." she said.

"Yeah?"

"One or two people would take a few thin uniforms and layer them on top of each other, or even a thick pillow or a blanket from the Kapo quarters if they had access. Then they'd use that and hold it over the thief to suffocate her as she slept at night. Then in the morning, as usual, the block leader would ask 'how many dead?' A few people would point at her and that was the end of that."

"There's plenty of stuff to use here!" Feliks gasped. "We could both do it together! Just hold it over his head!"

"I think so."

"Are we strong enough?" Feliks asked. "What if he would wake up and try to kill us? Or yelled and got Gil? He's certainly stronger than one of Birkenau's prisoners."

"But he would be suffocating. He wouldn't be as strong because his muscles wouldn't have air." she supplied.

"True… but what if the adrenaline makes him _twice_ as strong? You've heard those stories of mothers like, lifting small cars off of their children when they have to. Imagine if that happened with someone as strong as Ludwig."

"Uh.." Elizabeta cringed at the thought. "Perhaps that one is a little bit too risky." she admitted.

Feliks scowled as yet another plan was turned down. Then his face lit up with new idea. "You think he has one of those pills?"

"What pills?" she questioned.

The Pole lowered his voice. "The SS are issued cyanide pills, right?"

She had heard somewhere they were supposed to commit suicide upon capture. But the SS were always mysterious, that was what made them scary. Despite loving an ex-one she didn't say she could know a whole lot about them. Nor did she want to ask him about the SS, specifically the manner of their suicides. "They probably took Gil's when they captured us after we ran away." she said.

Feliks nodded. "Yeah, but you think Ludwig has his?"

"Likely. I don't know why he would get rid of it." she said.

"Could we like, steal it and feed it to him? Maybe offer to wash his clothes and take it?"

"Wash his clothes in what? Beer?"

"Hmm.. we could just take it, I suppose. Do you know where it is? A secret pocket somewhere?

"No. I'm not looking forward to being close enough to him to wrench his jaws open and shove a pill down his throat while he sleeps anyway."

"We could knock him out first. Get him drunk." Feliks supplied.

"But he just said why we can't drink too much. We could sneak it in his food. Or crush it up in a powder and slip it in a drink. Does cyanide have a taste?" she asked.

Feliks smiled. "Anyone who knows the answer to that is dead."

She heard a click as the door swung open on its broken hinges. Her favorite Prussian soldier strode through the doorway, a paper bag and Ludwig's wallet in his hand. Although if Gilbert really wanted to he probably could have just stepped over the rubble through one of the holes in the wall.

"Hey, what were you guys talking about?" Gilbert asked.

"Football." Feliks answered quickly.

Gilbert shrugged. "We're out of money, by the way." He put the bag of bread down on the table along with Ludwig's emptied wallet and his hat and gloves.

"Like, out-out? Like, totally-shmotally out?" Feliks asked.

"Wallet is empty. And I'm almost out of cigarettes, which is terrible! I had to use some Gilbert-negotiation power just to get this, actually." the Prussian said.

"Never thought I'd say this, but good job scaring people, Gilbert." Elizabeta said.

He smiled. "Glad to know you keep me around for a reason."

"Like, how are we going to get money now?" Feliks exclaimed.

"I say, we sell Feliks in one-hour increments to any willing parties." Gilbert stated.

Feliks threw himself on the table and struck a sultry pose, sticking his hand behind his ear to rest his elbow on the table and tilting his legs up in the air as he lay on his side. He gave Elizabeta his best sparkling eyes and fluttered his long blonde lashes. He lowered his voice seductively. "What do you say, Lizzie? First one is free."

The three erupted into a chorus of laughter. She heard Gilbert break a beer bottle somewhere between his guffaws.

"Maybe if you want her to kill you, Feliks. Let's eat."

Feliks returned his hair to its usual mop and slid himself feet-first off the table. Gilbert broke the bread into three parts. Deciding that eating at the table wouldn't work with only one chair they sat on the floor and ate there.

"Hey. Gilly, can I like, have some of yours?" Feliks asked after quickly finishing his.

 _"Uhm, like,_ _no way_!" Gilbert imitated his voice, switching his bread to the hand more distant from Feliks.

"Pleeease?" Feliks attempted what she assumed was his best pleading look. But it seemed to have little effect on Gilbert.

"You'll have to do better than that. Why the hell should I give you _my_ food? I told you ten times that you should have eaten last time."

"But I like, wasn't hungry then!" Feliks squeaked.

"I don't care. You should have eaten anyway. Didn't your mother tell you to eat breakfast?"

"Well I don't know about what you do in Germany -you probably eat your mothers- but my mama told me I should eat lunch too!"

"We don't eat our mothers in Germany, Feliks." Gilbert growled.

"Please? I didn't eat anything else today."

Gilbert grunted. She saw him note the way Feliks rubbed his shoulder he had gotten hurt when he tried to defend her. Gil frowned and tore his share in half. "Whatever. I ate the wursts you didn't eat this morning, and it was a hell of a lot more than this." He tossed it to Feliks. "You're welcome."

"Thank you Gilly!"

Gilbert grunted again and unceremoniously stuffed what was left in his mouth.

* * *

It was many hours after the three of them had stolen the money and eaten. Feliks had disappeared into a room. Ludwig was nowhere to be heard of. He had left earlier for some reason. It was somewhere around midnight and dark outside and a nearly full moon had risen. And Gilbert, _well,_ Gilbert was….

"Elizavet..have I ever t-told you just how speshul you are?"

Completely and utterly inebriated.

"This would be time number three in the last hour, I believe." she sighed.

"Elizabeta, you're not nearly drunk enough. Please, have some." He jerkily lifted the bottle in his hand to her face. His coat and tie were shed, and he sat in just his white shirt and black suspenders.

"Really, Gil, it's fine. Don't you remember what Ludwig said? Don't drink so much alcohol. You're dehydrated."

"Liz! There's nothin worse'an drinking by yer'self. And I'll be damned b'fore I ask _Feliks_ to drink with me. Jesus, I don't know if he's even ever been drunk before! You'll have some, won't you? Please?"

Gilbert was staring at her, his red eyes not quite achieving the puppy-dog look he was going for, with his hand extended with a half empty bottle of suspicious amber liquid towards her.

Slowly, she accepted. She brought the glass neck to her lips and took a large sip. She found the bitter flavor to be weaker but not nearly as smooth as any Hungarian Pálinkas she had had back home as it ran down her throat. The beer's cheap, impure taste burned her more than most liquor she had had going down, but it was an oddly comforting sort of burning as the alcohol settled in the pit of her stomach. She put the bottle down nearby on the table with a loud clink.

"Kails poskails ains par antres." she said, smiling softly up at Gilbert.

Gilbert's face lit up with the purest, most concentrate elation she had ever seen on him as she recited the toast he had told her. It warmed her heart. He slung a heavy log-like arm around her, almost knocking her off of the table as he reached for another beer with his other hand. He kissed her suddenly, and then started breaking out into joyful drunken song. He bellowed and belted out the lyrics, swaying with her in his arm on one side, and a bottle sloshing in the other. It was strangely melodious in its bass tones despite its slurred enunciation. It wasn't in any language she recognized. Old Prussian, she assumed. She sat there for a while, listening and laughing as he sang. Every time she laughed and looked at him Gilbert grinned started singing louder.

After a few moments a vaguely Feliks-shaped head peeked around the crack of the door he had chosen for himself. He knocked on it, as if that would gain their attention. He was yelling before she could hear him over Gilbert.

"Hey! Is everything, like, alright?!" Feliks yelled.

Gilbert's song fell short. He switched back to German. "F'course I'm alright! I'm singing! What the hell else didja think was goin on?"

Feliks's expression was instantly guilty. His brows rose apologetically. "I thought there was like, another animal dying. But it's okay. Just you." The Pole smiled and ducked back inside his room.

Gilbert looked at her dubiously a second after the door had resonated shut. "S'it just me, or did th'kid just say my singing s'like a dyin 'nimal?"

"It was lovely singing, Gilbert. Don't mind him." she said.

Gilbert closed his eyes and nodded overstatedly. His singing was most certainly awesome, he already knew. She didn't need to tell him that.

"Y'know what, Liz?" He leaned back on the table. He guzzled about half of his bottle in a few gulps before setting it down again.

"What, Gil?"

"Dontcha feel bad for Hitler's mustache?"

_"...Excuse me?"_

" _I_ feel bad for Hitler's mustache. That was a very common style this whole century. But now anyone who sees it thinks of Hitler. That poor little mustache is going to be extinct in few years, don'tcha feel bad for it? It didn't do anything. But no one will ever wear it again for th'rest of human history. It ain't done nuttin wrong. Poor little mustache." His tone was very somber with genuine pity.

She blinked owlishly. She was amazed Gilbert was still conscious, given whatever odd trains of thought his mind was currently working off of. He lurched up from the table suddenly, steadying himself on the edge. "I'm gonn' go get Lutz."

Ludwig? Had Gilbert come to some realization about their situation that they hadn't realized before? Had the alcohol made him think of something? "I don't know if that's such a good idea given your condition...What do you need him for?" she asked.

"Gonn haf a pissin contest."

"WHAT?!"

"Y'heard me. A pissing contest. See who can go farthest. Imma go get 'im. He beat me last time we went boozin. Y'can judge if you like." Gilbert slurred. He grinned devilishly and lowered his voice. "I know you want to."

She grabbed him as he stood up. "That's not a good idea!"

"You could participate too ifya' had sommore beer. I'm not really sure how it works with girls, you can at least write your names, right? Why not try?"

"No! Women cannot write their names like that!"

"Seriously?! You can't?! You're joking me!"

"No."

Gilbert's face fell. "Being a woman sucks!"

She rolled her eyes. "And you'll make Ludwig even madder if you wake him up to do something like _that!"_

Gilbert pondered this for a moment. Then decided he needed to state the obvious. "I haveta go though."

She brought her palm to her brow. "Then _go_ outside. Do not wake Ludwig up to challenge him to a contest."

"But he beat m'last time! I can't accept that! Quitters never win!" he protested.

"There'll be another time. I'll judge then. Why don't you go outside?" she said, steadying him a bit as she pointed his clumsy form outdoors. After a moment of hesitation Gilbert kissed her and disappeared outside. The moment she sensed he was far enough away she swiftly stowed the remaining beers in some of the surviving linen cabinets. She left two at the table in addition to the one each she and Gil had. She could not make her activities too obvious.

He came back a few moments after she had sat back on the table, she swinging her feet innocently. Boys really were much faster at that than females. He was unintelligibly singing a bit when he sat down next to her again. Elizabeta wasn't sure if it was because it was in another language or because he was drunk. "Nnm. Liz, you know what I'm in the mood for right now?" Gilbert asked.

"What?" she said.

"A nice hot shower! That'swat I want."

"Do you? I don't want to take a shower now…."

"Yes. But a hot shower is just s'like a regular one. But with _me_ in it. S'wat makes it hot."

She snorted a bit, but of course rolled her eyes on the outside.

"T'would be doubly hot if you were there, too." he said grinning, finishing the rest of the bottle. He reached for another and she heard him crack the cap with his teeth.

"You know there's no plumbing here. No to mention if this house had a bathroom it was blown off during an explosion…"

"S'use your 'magination, Liz. I know you've got one. War does funny things to your magination. But I still have a little."

She grunted.

"You're very cute when you pout like that, y'know? I mean, you're a little bit thin, but you'll fatten up, ah? You really are a pretty little thing."

"Thanks Gil." She may be insulted by being referred to so belittlingly, but when Gilbert was drunk like this she knew he certainly wasn't clever enough to be anything but honest. She might as well be nice.

"Like a little wood nymph or somethin'. Or I know! A sexy Magyar goddess, on a horse, dressed in black, toting one of those curved cavalry sabers."

She gasped at what he pantomimed next. "Gilbert! You're drunk, that's enough! What if Feliks comes?!" she whispered hoarsely.

"You'd be dressed in those nice white Hungarian frills. And then the tight black stuff, with your little red Hungarian flowers embroidered on them, you know? But it would be cut low. And the a horse, a big black one. You could have the wings they made too! The mounted Hussars put metal wings with feathers on their backs to scare people when they fought on their horses, didn't they? They whistled something fierce when the horse ran. Like an angel's wings or a valkyrie or something. That's hot. Real hot."

"It was the Poles who put the wings on their Hussars. Not the Hungarians." she informed. She didn't have anything to say regarding the rest of his fantasy...

"No? Damn shame. Y'look nice with a paira' wings." He finished his beer and tossed the bottle through a hole in the wall, which shattered outside. He reached for another.

She shook her head and reached discreetly for the beer she had left on the table and took a sip. She was somewhat surprised to find some left; that Gilbert hadn't downed hers yet. She saw Gilbert look on approvingly. He smirked as she set it down.

"I hunger, Elizabeta." he said, standing up behind her.

"What else is new?" she groaned, rolling her eyes.

She felt him whirl around her with the swiftness of a soldier and brought his face close to her ear, his hands pressing with a possessive firmness on her narrow shoulders. She felt his hot breath puffing against the cool flesh of her throat. His teeth grazed along her trapezius and she felt her back stiffen involuntarily at his presence suddenly so close. His gaze shifted to hers, his head resting somewhere around her left shoulder and as he stood behind her. She saw his wine-dark eyes flicker to her, their large aroused black pupils almost completely eclipsing his irises, leaving only a thin corona of carnal red around the black. They glinted mischievously in the low light, tiny lines fanning around the corner of his eyes as he smiled.

"It's not for food."

"Wha…" she whispered.

"I say, we do it right here. Real loud. On the table. Next to Ludwig's room. Just to piss'em off. Real, real loud. I'll make you scream."

"Gil!"

"Elizabeta Héderváry, I will ravage you until you are raw. I will make you scream until Frederick the Great himself crawls out of his tomb and yells at me for waking him up from his sleep." His eyes flickered to the kitchen, where a frying pan hung from a loop on the wall. "I'll even let you use that if I'm bad."

"Gilbert!" she shrieked. "You're drunk!"

"You're quite violent in bed. You're already fired up now. I can't wait."

"Feliks…." she stammered. "He might see… he's innocent…."

"He's Polish and probably twenty years old. He's felt the warmth of a woman before. Or a man. Or a horse, whatever the hell a Feliks fucks. Don't worry about ruining him." Gilbert said, massaging her shoulders. He was gradually pushing her green dress down.

"I-I… I think you've had a bit much."

"Nonsense my dear! Let's do this!"

"I don't think this is a good time…."

"Is the sea red? I said I need to screw!"

"No. This isn't right." she held. Gilbert had accumulated a small mountain of cigarette butts at the foot of the table. As with a multitude of beer bottles. Ever since he had gotten back from his trip this morning it seemed he had been determined to get himself as physically poisoned as possible. She did not want this. 

"Come _ooon,_ " he moaned. "It's hot when you bitch. But please do it on something else."

"You don't need sex. You need something else." She stepped strongly away from the table, hearing Gilbert's frustrated whine as her breasts slipped free of his fingers. He stood up too, his aroused expression evolving into something more akin to a pout as she distanced herself. He took another swig from his bottle.

"Sex is always good. And I've got my booze. What else could any red-blooded man possibly ask for?" Gilbert reasoned.

"You're depressed about Ludwig." she stated.

"What? Ludwig?"

"You've been mentioning him every ten minutes."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Ludwig can kiss my pale ass! I'm as happy as a clam! _In fact,_ did you know that in American a clam is-"

Isten, he was as drunk a man as she had ever seen. And the way he denied it and tried to change the subject only betrayed that she had hit the nail on the head. Gilbert was not going to find his solace at the bottom of a bottle of some Austrian homemade hooch. Desperate times called for desperate measures. "We're going." the Hungarian stated, standing up and grabbing his hand.

"To fuck?" Gilbert supplied with a hopeful smile.

"No. Get that notion out of your mind. We're going on a field trip."

"Yes, of course. Atmosphere is everything. Forget the table. We'll find ourselves a nice spot." he said, nodding surely to himself.

"I already know where we're going." Elizabeta finalized, ignoring him.

"Oh, is it a surprise?"

"Yes, it's a surprise. We're meeting someone." she voiced calmly.

"Three? I could try that, I suppose. If it was a girl. Why I had no idea you were into that!" he crowed excitedly.

"That's enough."

"Who are we meeting?" 

"A friend."

"We don't have any friends. Unless you mean Feliks or Ludwig, but I don't think you do. Did you have a friend here before the war? You shouldn't fuck your friends. Are they hot?"

"I don't know, maybe. Probably not your type."

"It _is_ a she, right?"

"Pretty girly, yeah." she answered. "Old lady with tea and crumpets caliber of girly."

He snorted derisively. "Elizabeta Héderváry has girly lady friends. What has this world come to?"

" _She_ is Roderich." She pulled a yellowed piece of paper out from her blazer. "Grab your clothes you big drunk. We're going to find Roderich."


	41. Chapter 41

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

The next sound she heard was of Gilbert spewing whatever beer he was about to swallow out of his mouth.

"What! Roderich!? Good God, I think I just lost it! What the hell do we need _that_ loser for!?"

"You haven't figured it out? He changed from Nazism too, he can strategize with us about Ludwig. Plus, maybe he'll have some news to tell us."

"How do you know how to get to him?!"

"He wrote down his address for me when he spoke to me that one time." She waved the slip of paper again. "So we could find him if we needed to."

"I'm sure he didn't mean in the middle of the night."

"Oh well. He'll deal. It's more productive than getting drunk if you ask me." she said.

"You know, back when I was a kid a man would get drunk and the woman would say 'Okay, stupid. You go get yourself drunk. Be ready for work in the morning and I'm going to bed.' But what does she say now? 'Oh hey! You're drunk? Let's go on a field trip around the city at night!'

"Must just be me." she said with a grin, handing him his hat and opening his coat to slide the black fabric over his arm.

"Rod's not so nice. You know what he told me once?"

"What?"

"That if I mixed up Mozart and Beethoven one more time he would carve out my intestines an use 'em to string his violin!"

" _I'll_ protect you." she purred. "Let's go."

"What about Feliks? What bout Ludwig? He's been all by himself in that room the whole time. Yup, just himself in that room, all alone. He's thinking about pretty blond little Aufseherinnen." He took a breath, his eyes going wide. "Or _, I know_! kissy little olive-skinned, doe-eyed Italian boys!"

"That's enough Gil. Don't be ridiculous. We'll be back before he or Feliks even wake up."

"At least take a bottle with you." Gilbert pleaded, holding one up to her entreatingly. His was already in his hand.

"Someone among us needs to be at least _mostly_ sober." she voiced.

"S'pose that's a good idea." he ceded as she opened the door for him and followed him out of it. The gibbous moon blazed high and full above the streets, which were nearly deserted at this hour minus the occasional horse carriage or huddled person walking by.

She squinted at the nearest street sign in the dark and started walking toward it, curling against the breeze. Viennese street signs were rectangular metal signs posted on building walls, looking not unlike a car's license plate. They all started with the district number, then the street name, and then the house number. She knew that they were in the 2nd district since all of the signs started with 2. Roderich's address was in the 20th. She did not know where that was.

"Jesus Christ! Cold as a witch's tit out here!" Gilbert exclaimed, his voice whipped by the night wind channeling through the buildings.

"At least you're wearing something real, Gil." she sighed, inching closer to him as she walked.

"Aaw… Y'do look cold, Liz. Prolly not this cold in Hungary. Here," Gilbert pulled off both of his gloves and pressed them into her numbing hands.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure! S'much warmer in Austria than where I'm from. I'll s'vive. I kind of like the cold, too. S'better than bein too hot."

Elizabeta pulled on Gilbert's gloves. The soft black leather was warm and supple, sliding like a second skin over her hand and kept the icy needles of the wind away. Although each finger of the glove hung about a full two centimeters over where her nails ended she hiked them up as far as she could to cover half of her forearms.

"I like that look wi'you, Liz. I think err'one should own a pair of black leather gloves. It's real badass." Gilbert noted, nodding to himself as he stumbled along. He kept seeming to trip over his feet.

"Alright, alright. Sober up and walk faster, come on."

"Not so sure how well I can do that."

"That bottle looks _awfully_ heavy. Maybe that's what's slowing you down? I could carry it for you, if you'd like."

Gilbert shot her the most horrified expression he could muster and jerked the bottle fearfully to the side furthest from her. "No way Liz! That's heartless!"

"Then walk in a straight line, please."

"I _was_ walkin straight!"

With a sigh Eliza leaned his shoulder against hers and wrapped her right arm behind his waist to steady him. Gilbert responded by grabbing her butt. Not exactly the best part of someone to hold on to if looking for structural support. "Alright, one-two, move it! _Mush_ , let's go!" she commanded.

"Left, two, three, four, left!" he hummed happily, putting a soldier's unnecessary stiffness in his steps as he reenacted whatever military training he was thinking of in his beer-fuddled mind. He swung his free arm with the bottle in tune with each of his movements, taking occasional swigs from it when he thought she wasn't looking. They walked like that for a respectable five minutes, Gilbert switching in and out of different drinking songs and old battle hymns. Every once in a while he would look at her like he expected her to join in, grinning, even though she had no idea what the words were.

Then he stopped, laughed, and leaned against a building. "Okay, Lizzie, I says this's far nuff for one night."

One night? They weren't going to take a nap outside in the middle of winter without having even reached the next district! She grasped him by the armpits and hoisted him up again.

" _Oh no_. We are not stopping here, mister! You got yourself drunk, now get your ass up!" she barked. To his credit, Gilbert managed to lock his knees, but she couldn't get him to take another step. They just needed to get there, if worse came to worse they could probably crash at Roderich's for the night. When he didn't grab her ass she knew something wasn't quite right. Desperate, she switched tactics.

"Alright, alright," she soothed. "Upsidaisy. You can do it Gil. Come on. Just a few blocks more. If you can get there and back we'll have an easy day tomorrow. You were trained in the greatest army in the world, weren't you? They'd make you run thirty kilometers in the winter before the sun sets. You can do this no sweat."

"And I can assure you my awesome self was the second person t'cross that thirty kilom'ter finish line. But I'll admit I wasn't New-Years wasted then...Hey, it's probably past midnight! Happy New Year Liz!"

"Happy 1945, Gil. Hopefully by this time next year there won't be a war." Of course, she had hoped the same thing last year and the year before.

She maneuvered his arm behind her in a non-posterior-clutching position and she managed to get him to take a few more clumsy steps. After a moment he stopped, looked at how far he had gone, and laughed deafeningly. They had scarcely wandered another thirty _meters_. He chuckled. She groaned.

"Hey, lady, need some help?" a voice she didn't recognize slurred.

A smiling young man stepped from around the corner. The first thing she noticed was that he was taller than either of them. He wore a striking black trenchcoat with red cuffs, a red shirt, black tie, and tall brown boots. His blondish orange hair was arranged in every direction with his sky blue eyes that sloped slightly downwards. A small black hat was nestled off-center on his head, which caused her to wonder how it stayed on. In his black-gloved hand, too, was a translucent bottle of somesort.

_Oh great, another drunk!_

Too drunk to notice Gilbert's uniform, apparently. But she only smiled abashedly. What else could be done? Gilbert was much heavier than she was- if his awesome self decided he was going to pass out in the gutter experience had proven there wasn't much other than yelling she could do to deter him.

"Uh, yes, could you mayb-"

"You need help walkin yer friend there, missy?" he asked.

"Yes, I do. That's what I need."

"Okay!" Without a further word the mysterious drunk mirrored her position on the right side of Gilbert, throwing the Prussian's bottle holding arm around his shoulder as Elizabeta placed Gilbert's left arm on her shoulder. It quickly slid down to her butt again, but if he was at least holding onto this helper perhaps some progress could be made. Before Gilbert could complain she started walking, Gil propped in the middle, and the stranger started walking too.

"Hey friend! Who in Fritz's name are you?" Gilbert asked him.

"Not some potato sucking kraut, that's for sure, nej?"

Gilbert's face lit up in a smirk, recognizing his accent. "Well then! The Awesome Mr. Potato Sucking Kraut gives his best wishes to the Mr. Stinky Drunken Fish-Scaling Dane. How the _fuck_ are you doing this fine evening, sir?"

"Just swell! In fact, I just got back from a prison!" the stranger said.

Elizabeta hesitated a moment. Convicts were not the type of people she needed to surround herself with at this time. "Mister… what did you do to get yourself in prison?" she asked hesitantly.

"I just walked there. I just woke up with my head resting against this tombstone, you know? I don't know what I was doing there. But I had a bottle in my hand, and I started walking around some more! I really wish there were more people around. It's much too quiet for New Year's Eve. Kinda sad, this war stuff. Beer should be flowing in the streets if you ask me!"

"Aye!" Gilbert agreed, previous insult forgotten, sloshing the bottle in his hand draped across the Dane's neck as he pointed it to the air.

"A… a tombstone? In a prison?" she questioned. She would need to figure out how to translate Drunk better.

"No…" the stranger shook his head as he walked along. "Prison wasn't what I meant…. Cemetery! Now that's what I meant! Sorry Lady, I forgot your word for cemetery."

She blinked. "Uh… okay. That's reasonable. I'm Elizabeta, by the way."

"I mean, they're both cold stony sad places, right? Nowhere you'd want to be unless visiting someone. It makes perfect sense that I would get them confused, right?"

"Yes, exactly." Elizabeta said, nodding. The Dane seemed satisfied with this.

"Excuse me but you wouldn't happen to know exactly how to get to the 20th district, would you?" Elizabeta asked.

"Sure! You tourists to the old dorm Hitler stayed at? That's the big hit in District 20, ya know."

"We're visiting a friend." She showed the Dane the paper she held when they passed under a light. He squinted at it a moment.

"Just down th'road! Two and Twenty are next to each other. You were going the right way, I'll show ya there, missy."

"Thank you."

The Dane hooted boisterously in answer as if she had told a joke. Elizabeta just raised her eyebrows and kept walking. Then he looked at Gilbert, "Hey, stranger. Whatsyur name, 'nyway?"

"The Awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt. Title mandatory."

" _Beilschmidt_? An ax-smith!" the Dane crowed. "I think I like that name!" He lifted one of his fingers from his bottle and reached inside his shirt, pulling out a small battered iron charm on a chain and held it to flash in the moonlight. It was in the shape of a Viking battle-ax.

"Name's Mathias, by th'way. Mathias Køhler."

"Rolls much smoother than Mr. Stinky Drunken Fish-Scaling Dane." Gilbert noted.

"Yep! Yours too, Potato Sucking Kraut!"

"That's _The Awesome_ Potato Sucking Kraut to you, Dane."

They walked along like that for a while, Elizabeta listening halfly to the drunken lighthearted jabs of the two egotistical maniacs next to her, occasionally checking the address of the paper in her hands hoping she was going the right way. Eventually she saw Mathias look over at Gilbert.

"Hey." He swung the bottle in his hand. "You wanna trade drinks, kraut?"

Gilbert gawked at him. "No way! Nice try, yours is only half full!"

The Dane smiled. "Yep." He tapped his bottle. "But this is some good Danish stuff. S'called a Carlsberg. And I'm not worried which Austrian's snobby claw-foot bathtub it was brewed in."

Gilbert hesitated a moment for his drunken thought cogwheels to process, scowling in thought. His beady eyes locked on the labeled bottle in Mathias's outstretched hand. "Deal. Take the hooch."

"Atta boy!" Mathias crowed, happily accepting Gilbert's more full beer and handing Gilbert his different one. Gilbert grinned and started swilling it.

"Whatcha think, Gilbo?"

"S'good! How's yours?"

Mathias grinned. "S'actly what I'd think. Tastes like it was brewed in some fat Austrian's porcelain bathtub!"

Gilbert started cackling joyously upon finding an ally against his observed snobbyness of Austria, apparently happy for something different to drink, and started singing again. Mathias started singing too; both two completely different songs, in two completely different languages. She could understand a few cognates of Mathias's off-pitch Danish, but she was again lost on most of Gilbert's slurred Old Prussian. But the two tone deaf drunks swung their arms like they were singing the same song that they had been taught since kindergarten. The volume got to the point where she could see some of the windows above her turn on and off their lights.

 _It's New Years. Be happy it's drunken idiots and not bombs,_ she thought at the people above. But it occurred to her that they still shouldn't attract attention.

"Do you want me to start singing in Hungarian or something?" she asked above the noise, willing them to be quieter.

"Sure lady, go ahead!" Mathias said jovially, breaking from his song and slapping her on the back.

She halted for a moment at this response to her question which she thought to be rhetorical. She parted her lips indignantly, but then relaxed them in a defeated smile.

"Kaīls rikīse! Tu ni jāu laban asei tēwelise, ik kwaitēi pōiti, ni kwaitēi peningā dōiti!" belted the Prussian.

"Vi skåler med vore venner, og dem som vi kinder, og dem som vi ikke kinder, dem skåler vi for!" cheered the Dane.

"Le le le fenékig, le le le fenékig!" sang the Hungarian.

She swung her free arm, smiling and laughing, her other helping to support Gilbert as he hollered with equal mirth, the party-crazed Dane on his right. It was a simple tune, but a sufficient one. _Down down down, to the bottom of the bottle!_ As for the other two? She had no idea what they were singing. Some ignored instinct hoped it wasn't Gilbert proclaiming to the city what he fantasized doing to her that night; but she found she didn't so much care anymore.

Gilbert handed her his bottle approvingly as she sang. She gave the beer one big gulp, and shoved it back towards his smiling face. They walked for a few more minutes and saw the street signs started with 20.

"Hey, guys, that address s'just around that corner. I think I'm gonna go find another bar now." Matthias said, jerking his thumb. "They keep kickin' me out for some reason. Maybe I can catch some decent lad who knows what the King had to say at the clock tower! Nice meeting ya!"

"Bye Dane!" Gilbert sang.

"Bye Mathias! Thanks for the help!" she added cheerily, although she honestly had no idea what he was talking of with a king and a clock. Hopefully he would find what he was looking for.

She soon came to the door of the address. Gilbert had finished his bottle and threw it somewhere, much to the yowling chagrin of an unfortunately located stray cat. They appeared to be riff-raff who had wandered into a classy section of town. It was a tall and thin building, clad in white on the outside with curving black vertical bars over the windows. But the building's little license shield marked it as the right one. She knocked on the wooden door loudly, thankfully the two doors had knockers and Elizabeta was never known for her subtlety. After unleashing a tirade on the carved double doors she waited quietly for about two minutes. Eventually one of the doors opened just a crack, and a pair of hazel eyes peered out. It opened about ten centimeters, just enough for the pair of eyes gleaming out from the shadowy interior of the house to appraise the odd visitors at this time of night.

Elizabeta smiled and bowed her head a bit, locking her gaze with the eyes peering out from inside. "Hi, sorry for waking you up, but we need to speak to Roderich Edelstein, please. It's urgent."

"What is the nature of your visit?" a female voice asked. Elizabeta was relieved that whoever seemed to recognize the name.

"We have some catching up to do." Elizabeta replied.

"Miss, I do apologize, the man you are looking for is asleep right now. Perhaps if you give me your names and try again in the morning Magister Edelstein will be willing to-"

Gilbert stepped into view of the crack. " _Magister_ Edelstein? What did he get his degree in? Classical Music history?"

The woman flushed a bright red. She stuck her head out from the doorway, searching for the source of the blasphemy. "Magister Edelstein is a brilliant man, and I am proud to work as his maid, young man!"

" _Young man?_ That's Sir to you. What are you, eighteen?" Gilbert stalked right up to the little space as Elizabeta backed off, narrowing his eyes at the person who stood there. Elizabeta thought she might have heard a sharp intake of breath. A moment later the door creaked hesitantly open.

"Heil Hitler. And, may I ask what are you doing here at this hour, sir? Officer, I mean!" the girl stammered, completely ignoring Eliza and looking Gilbert up and down as if he were about to disembowel her where she stood.

"That's better!" Gilbert barked. "Now! Let us in, wake up Roderich, or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow this whole fucking house down! Right after I finish skinning your scrawny carcass!"

"Yessir!" the girl yelped, clacking her heels together and saluting. "Right this way, please!"

She seemed intensely nervous. Elizabeta sent the woman a comforting glance and she seemed to calm down a bit. A Gestapo wouldn't bring a woman with him to arrest someone. Unless Elizabeta was the informant. But the moment the maid led them into the house Eliza shot Gilbert a snide yet praising grin at his maneuvers. One that the Prussian returned proudly. "You two may wait here." the servant glanced nervously at Gilbert. "I mean, if that's alright with you sir. I shall go fetch Magister Edelstein."

"Be quick about it!" Gilbert snapped.

Elizabeta waited patiently in the dark foyer of the house, folding her hands in front of her and occasionally bouncing on her heels as she glanced around. Gilbert stood ramrod straight and looked straight ahead, thrust up his chin, and continued looking pissed off and professional. Roderich's house looked just like she would have expected it to; like the rest of Vienna only less dirty. Gray-veined marble floors and a curling white marble staircase that led up into the darkness upstairs where she saw the maid disappear to. If she listened closely she heard muffled voices speaking. Light leaked out from underneath a door. The house was lavishly decorated, but not especially large. Plenty of thick fancy books and bibles, and if she squinted through the darkness she saw a piano in another room. Bits of silver decorations and frames gleamed out from the moonlight that streamed through the windows.

Noble _Magister Roderich Edelstein_ rushed down the curving staircase a moment later, his little servant in tow, in his pajamas.

"Oh my God it's true! What are you two doing here at this hour? Is everything alright?" the Austrian exclaimed. He was turning lights on around the house.

"Just fine, Roderich. We'll get into that later." Elizabeta said.

"Both of you come in. This way. Verena, start some coffee please. Make a cup for each of us. Not the Ersatz."

"Yes Magister Edelstein." The maid hurried off to the kitchen.

Elizabeta looked at Roderich and lowered her voice as she followed him. "Do you really need a personal maid just for you? You were in the army, certainly you're not so useless anymore."

"That is true. But people are starving, Elizabeta. In the twentieth century in my city. I've been donating what I can. But if I can employ someone we will both be more than happy for it."

"Oh." Elizabeta replied guiltily.

"How did you manage to get real coffee in 1944? Let alone enough for a whole pot?" she said again.

"By no means legal, I can assure you of that."

Coming from Roderich, and in contrast to the nobility of his last sentence, that almost made her smile a little bit. Roderich ushered them out of the foyer with a sweep of his arm and into the interior of the house. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a drunken Gilbert messing with some objects on a small table, his momentary professional demeanor evaporated. On the table she noticed several photographs of the Austrian and what she assumed was his family, and a few other silver decorations and crystal figurines.

"Hey, it's even in color. You rich little bast'd. Color photographs are cool things, ain't they?" Gilbert started fumbling with a small photograph, slipping the picture out from the thin glass of the frame with a loose smile. He held it in front of his face in two fingers. "Look at this. I n'er seen one up close before! I think the only time I remember getting my picture taken was in primary school or when I joined the army, and all of those times it was in black and white. Next thing I know you'll be telling me you own a television!"

"A television! Do not be ridiculous. No single household is rich enough to own a television. Can't imagine why you'd want one anyway. Gilbert, all due respect, but would you kindly keep your grubby paws off of that?" Roderich advised.

Gilbert did indeed keep his grubby paws off of that. He dropped the papery photograph, it swinging like a leaf down the arm of his uniform, scarcely paying attention where it fell. He was distracted by a silver kaleidoscope-esque object he found. He picked it up and only appeared only vaguely aware that he might have been looking through the wrong end.

"Oh, this is cool. You ever see that one color movie, Rod?" Gilbert asked, twisting the tube of the instrument a bit and squinted into it. "What was it called, _"The Witch of Zoe"_ or something?"

"I think he means The Wizard of Oz." Elizabeta translated.

Roderich blinked, not quite adjusted to Gilbert's drunkenly sporadic trains of thought before shaking his head. "Yes, I saw that film several years ago when it came out. I hear in order to bypass the grayscale the filmmakers recorded it with red, blue, and green film simultaneously. Then layered them atop each other."

"I wanted to see it. It was in color, that's crazy! I might almost have put up with reading subtitles for that! But Ludwig didn't want me to watch it. He was frigging _sixteen years old_ when it came out and he still wouldn't let me watch it. Not that I knew where to see it. But then the war started and pretty soon the closest place that would play an American film was Paris. So I guess I didn't miss much." Gilbert said. He continued twisting the colors in the kaleidoscope.

"Uh-huh..." Roderich drolled. "Why don't we have a seat?"

The trio sat down at a table further inside his kitchen. She wasn't quite used to how plush the cushions were that she had sat on. A moment later the maid came by with three cups of coffee on little trays. She set one in front of each of them without a word. Gilbert grabbed his mug and started helping himself to some sort of nuts in a dish on the table. Elizabeta took a single deep sip of hers and passed it to Gilbert.

"Too strong?" Roderich asked.

"No. He needs it more. And water, please. He hasn't got a drop of water left in his body."

Verena the maid was still nearby, cleaning up the adjacent kitchen. Elizabeta was too smart to talk about why she had come here in front of an unknown pair of ears. She didn't know how much the maid knew. She switched to small-talk. Roderich was intelligent, he would figure it out.

"Roderich, I'm surprised your house isn't damaged. Are you worried that you will be left homeless like the rest of the people? With all of these bombings every few days?" she asked.

"That is always a threat. But it's not so bad in Vienna compared to some of the neighboring cities. I doubt there's much left standing in Budapest or Berlin right now."

A flash of concern crossed her face. "It's really that much worse in Budapest?"

Roderich's eyes widened apologetically. He had expected her somehow to know. "A thousand times worse, I am afraid."

Elizabeta thought of her home city, wishing for a moment she was there. With her people. Budapest was a sacrificial lamb. The Russians did not especially care to annihilate the Hungarian capitol. But once Budapest fell, the fall of Vienna was inevitable. And the Nazi occupiers would starve every Hungarian in the city before they opened the gates of Europe to the Red Army. She no longer yearned to be in Budapest.

He allowed her silence. She looked at how Roderich was dressed, in his nightshirt, and remembered what he wore in the city the other day. The gray and green Austrian traditional wool jacket and vest. Such an expression of Austrian Nationalism, when Austria no longer formally existed, was a rebellion against the Reich in itself.

"What you wore the other day. The Trachten. That's wasn't very German." she said.

"No, it's very Austrian." Roderich agreed with pleased simplicity. She was about to ask him about what a dangerous idea this was when Roderich cleared his throat.

"Ahem, Gilbert, I assume a pristine military tactician like yourself will have an intriguing answer to this. What is your take on the results of the conflict at the Ardennes thus far?

Gil took a swig from his coffee. "Huh..."

"The Battle of the Bulge? Near Belgium? Luxembourg? I hear our offensive forces have been pushing along, creating a bulge into the allied lines. And the British will not bomb our German troops because the fog is too heavy. The Americans seem to lack proper winter camouflage as well. But I suppose it's an offensive it would be nice to win, yes? Buy the people some time for winter to set in?" Roderich prompted.

"Mmm. These things are good, aren't they? What are they, cashews?"

"Although the weather plays to our advantage, I fear if we have to hold them there too long I suspect our troops will run out of... _Excuse me_?"

"Roderich." another doomed nut met its noisy end between Gilbert's molars. "I haven't got a clue what you're talking about."

Roderich's eyes darted quickly to the kitchen. "Verena, you are excused. Go to your chambers."

"Sir, I haven't finished scrubbing the coffee pot-"

"Do it in the morning. Or I'll do it, even. Just go to bed. Now."

"Yes Magister Edelstein." She glanced at the three at the table and quickly dispersed upstairs.

Roderich leaned in closer, keeping his voice a whisper. "You haven't heard about the battle? The Wehrmacht has just launched a huge offensive against the allies! It could change who wins this war!" Roderich exclaimed.

"Well, let's see now. The last month of my life I've either been working in some swampy hellhole in Poland, living in the woods outside said hellhole, in a smaller prison inside said prison of a hellhole -with some sadistic Austrian breathing down my neck, mind you- sleeping in a Mercedes Ludwig stole, sleeping under the breath of some smelly Russian, or slumming in the streets of Vienna while desperately hoping no one asks me a question like that. You tell me if I haven't had the time to read a newspaper or catch a newsreel."

"Oh..." Roderich said, swirling his drink.

"Would be nice to win, though. Seems like we're pouring in everything we've got." Gilbert added. He drained his cup of coffee and took the one Elizabeta had ceded to the cause of his sobriety.

Roderich folded his hands, raising his brows now that any unwanted parties were gone. "Yes. Well, what brought you both to my door, drunk as a Styrian Krampus, in the middle of the night?

"We were having some trouble with Ludwig." she pointed to her right with her eyes. "We wanted to talk to you, since you turned your back on Nazism. As soon we get to Switzerland he says he's going to go east to fight. And if anything of what we know is true about the conditions now..."

"Gilbert changed." Roderich said simply, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, but whatever the Gilbert approach was hasn't exactly been working on him."

"What exactly is that?"

Gilbert lifted his head up tiredly. "Whatever I could do?"

"Yes well, I am terribly sorry, but what do you want me to do about it?"

"Some advice, please?" she said.

Roderich frowned. "I suppose Gilbert's first step would be to not to be getting dead-drunk."

Gilbert looked hotly up at him. "Sir I am a grown man and will get drunk whenever the hell I so wish."

"What was it that convinced you?" Elizabeta queried of the Austrian.

"I was going to die for something that I realized appreciated neither myself nor my values. That was enough for me."

"Apparently not for everyone." she sighed.

Roderich exhaled in concurrence and stood up to browse a bookshelf on the wall. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and pulled a thick brown volume from the shelf. He seated himself and flipped the book open to its index.

"There was a man from my country -a psychoanalyst actually- named Wilhelm Stekel. He committed suicide just a few years ago." Roderich dictated.

"Yes?"

"Here is something he said; "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause. The mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.""

Elizabeta wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Apparently the most mature man among them was watching them boredly, playing with her coffee cup, drooling with his head on the table, with his right hand somewhere down his pants.

"Maturity is irrelevant in terms of life and death."

"I'm saying that you should let things happen. If Ludwig does not truly want to change his ways there is nothing you can do to make him. It is a decision only he can make."

"Do you mean what I think you do, Roderich?" Elizabeta pressed.

"Yes. If despite all of your efforts he chooses to die for something anyway, let him. At least that way one of you is pleased with yourselves. You should not endanger yourself by staying here any longer, waiting for the circumstances for him to change."

She sighed noisily. The worst part was, since he beat her, Elizabeta found herself agree with Roderich about Ludwig. Let him die.

Gilbert lurched up with a surprising alertness, setting his coffee cup down on its coaster with a night-shattering clink. "Thank you for the coffee Roderich. We will be going now. Liz, with me."

Roderich's eyes flared wide, standing up to face Gilbert. "I'm sorry Gilbert, I didn't mean to offend you. Please, why don't you sit down? At least have some water before you go?"

"Thanks Roderich, really, for the news update and everything, but we have to go."

Roderich stepped closer. "Gilbert, please listen, I didn't mean to-"

Gilbert grabbed Elizabeta tenderly despite his intoxication and helped her up from the table. Mutters from under his breath floated to her ears. _"I am not fucking abandoning him."_

Roderich was staring at Elizabeta desperately as a mediator, trying to get her to translate his apologies for some sort of social mishap he did not know he committed. Her lips parted. "I'm sorry Roderich, he was very drunk before, he doesn't mean to be rude-"

"Liz, come on. Let's go." Gilbert was taking careful attention to enunciate his words.

"Gil, don't do this to Roderich, he's trying to help. It's my fault if anything."

"Yes." Gilbert looked at Roderich and smiled without showing his teeth, nodding his head. "Thank you, really. The coffee was delicious, best I've had all year. But it is getting late-"

"It's getting _early_ , Gil." she interrupted.

"-and we really should be heading back before Feliks and Ludwig decide we've been abducted by the Gestapo. So thank you. No hard feelings."

"Gilbert, I understand you are angry right now, but if you ever need to talk please feel welcome back. Elizabeta, I'm talking to you right now."

"I'll make sure he knows when he's sober." the Hungarian called as Gilbert pulled her out the door.

XXXX

Elizabeta and Gilbert had been walking back to their temporary place of residence for several minutes. They remembered the way back.

"How are you doing?" Elizabeta eventually breathed.

"Somewhere in that blurry twilight between hungover and still horridly drunk. You?"

"Just tired."

"Okay, that's good. Liz?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me a story?"

An odd request, coming from him. He was still drunk. "What type of story?"

"Any story you want. One from when you were little. Just let me hear your voice."

"I will tell you an old Hungarian folktale, something that my grandfather used to tell me many years ago." Elizabeta said, slowing her pace a bit.

"Okay. I'm listening, Liz."

"Once upon a time, over a thousand years ago, the horse people Hungarians are descended from journeyed to Europe around the Ural Mountains. The whole tribe followed a mystical white stag to their new lands, which their gods told them to follow. They called themselves Magyar, but in some other countries as _'Hungarians'_ under the misconception that they are related to the Huns. Which we are not. I don't know why other countries don't just call us what we call ourselves, ' _Magyarország'_ really can't be that hard for them to pronounce."

"I can't blame them, because just looking at anything written in Hungarian makes my eyeballs want to dribble out. I think English slang for a German is a Hun. But I don't get that either. On with the story?"

"While they were following the stag, they split into two separate tribes, each side led by one of the two sons of the chief. His sons were named Hunor and Magyor. The warlike, brash people of the tribe followed Hunor, and the wiser, more rational members of the tribe followed Magyor. The followers of Hunor rushed ahead and made it to the promised land first. But the descendants of Hunor's people aren't around in Hungary anymore. They all died out or assimilated because they were so violent. But the peaceful Magyars were successful. That is how the Hungarians made it to their land where we are today."

"Can I tell a story, Liz?" Gilbert said, slowing down a bit and looking her in the eye.

"Of course you can, Gil."

"Okay. I have one. Once upon a time there was this family of four living in a small house in the countryside of Germany. There were two young kids. The two children liked their father very much, although they didn't much care for their mother. They were poor, but they were happy and made do anyway."

"Mhmm."

"Anyway, for some reason, the two children got lost out in the woods while their father was away one day. They were afraid; they liked their woods very much, but it was a dangerous place. Their father told them about all sorts of scary hungry creatures in the forest. The brothers became very lost trying to find their way home."

"Wait, brothers? Isn't Gretel female?"

"Who is Gretel? Did I say anything about a Gretel?"

"No."

"Anyway, see, the two kids got lost in the woods. But they didn't think they were lost."

"Because Hansel had dropped the bread crumbs-"

"Eliza, what the heck do you think I am talking about? They got themselves lost. There weren't any bread crumbs. Wouldn't they just eat their bread? Or use it to set a snare?"

"Sorry Gil. Continue."

"Anyhow, while in the deep dark scary forest the two kids stumble upon a full-size candy house! The windows were made of clear sugar and the walls out of cake and gingerbread, the roof was shingled in thick pink frosting. They got so excited and they were so hungry that they just ran to the house, you know? They start pulling gumdrops and peppermints and a whole bunch of candy off of the walls and ate until they wanted to tear off their lederhosen and just take a nap for a whole week! They were a little gluttonous, those kids, but they were young and they were happy."

"But an old witch lived there."

"That's correct Liz! How did you know?"

"Lucky guess, I guess."

"Anyhow, the witch said she was a good sweet old lady and said she would help the boys find their way back home, but in the mean time they could eat all of the food they wanted at her house. She was a short little witch, and had a little bit of a mustache even. She was strict sometimes, but very nice and fair to the boys when they obeyed her. One day the two boys found a book in her house."

"Oh? A book?"

"Yes. A very thick red bound book with gold lettering. It was titled "How to Serve Children." At first the two kids thought that it was very nice of the old woman to take care of them, that she had even been reading up instructions on how to do it correctly. The boys liked her very much and did chores for her. Whatever she asked. In return she let them have candy and cake and fattened them up. But then the older boy started getting suspicious of the witch and her ways."

"Yes?"

"He looked inside the book one day and saw it was a cookbook. You know, to _serve_ children? The sweet old woman was an evil witch who was gonna make stew out of the two kids! But the younger brother didn't believe the older brother when he told'im what he found out. He thought the witch would still take care of them no matter what, and he should try his best and take care of the witch too. Although he admired the little brother's loyalty and determination, the older brother tried and tried his very hardest to get his younger brother to believe him that staying with the witch was dangerous. But the younger just wouldn't. The witch had taken them in when they needed help. One night the older brother stole a pretty treasure from the witch's house to live on and ran away with it into the forest, to anyone appearing as if he were living happily ever after."

"What happened to the little brother?" Elizabeta asked.

"Easy. His older brother abandoned him. So the old cannibal witch ate him."

Elizabeta didn't answer. She closed her eyes, hugged Gilbert close, and kept walking back with him.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"...So Lizzie, you two like, went out on a field trip in the middle of the night?"

"Yes."

"And you like, met up with Roddy somehow?"

"Yes."

"And like, talked with him about stuff?"

"Yes Feliks, that's usually what meeting someone entails."

"About Ludwig stuff?"

"Yes."

"Did you like, ask Roddy for money too?"

"N-no!" Elizabeta stammered.

"Why not?"

"You can't just ask people for money, Feliks!" she shot.

"Sure you can! We ain't had any!"

Elizabeta shook her head at the Pole as he assaulted them with questions. Apparently Feliks had meant to check on them in the middle of the night to only discover they weren't even there. Feliks had been waiting for them like a distraught puppy when they climbed through one of the missing parts of the wall. It was morning now.

"Where is Ludwig, anyway?" Gilbert asked.

"He took one look at me when I woke up and took the heck off. I must like, look even scarier I usually do today." Feliks puffed his chest out and adjusted his hair. "He said he'd be back later. Speaking of our favorite Nazi, how are you feeling about him? Still sad?"

"I'm through dwelling on him." Gilbert stated. _But I'm still not giving up on his fascist ass, no matter how stubborn he is. He's noble deep down and I'm the only Beilschmidt he's got._

"Good! I hated it when you were all mopey yesterday!" Feliks said happily.

...He had not been _'mopey!'_ Gilbert had endured his grievances in silence like a true warrior.

All of the sudden there was a flash of long yellow hair as Feliks lunged at him. A swift pale wisp whirled around him with surprising athleticism, and Gilbert felt a tug on his belt as something was wrenched free. He saw the flash of ebony black and cold steel as the empty scabbard of his dagger fell to the floor as the shape sprung backwards several meters. Feliks's green eyes blazed at his. The Pole leveled the dagger unflinchingly in both hands, lifting his chin and pointing the blade straight at Gilbert.

"Kneel." Feliks demanded from across the room.

"Have you gone insane!?" Gilbert bellowed.

"I ordered you to kneel!"

"Feliks, do you know what the fuck I am? I've killed people before and worse! Now drop the knife before I tear your skull off from your backbone!"

"Feliks! What the hell are you doing!" Elizabeta shrieked.

"For once, Gilbert, can't you just kneel down!"

"No I will not fucking kneel down to some snapped Pole! Crazy Catholic, give me my knife back! RIGHT. NOW!"

Feliks groaned exasperatedly and bounded up on the table, the heavy dagger glinting in his hand. He landed in a crouch and rolled up onto his feet after he steadied himself, his head very nearly touching the ceiling. He squared his feet and glowered down at Gilbert. "Fine. If you won't kneel I'll stand."

"Feliks, you have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I start breaking bones!" the Prussian thundered as Feliks swung the dagger towards him.

"Sir Gilbert Beilschmidt," Feliks gradually lowered the broadside of the knife to Gilbert's shoulder. The albino's teeth flashed up into a vicious warning snarl.

"I hereby knight you our new leader."

Gilbert felt the flat side of the dagger tap his other shoulder. Feliks stood up again, then knelt to Gilbert, bowed his head, and handed him back his dagger in both hands. Gilbert snatched it firmly away and glared at Feliks as he climbed down from the table. "If you lowered that thing any faster I would have kicked you." he growled.

"Sorry Gilly."

"Oh, you'd be sorry alright! Don't you ever do that without telling me again! What the hell is this leader nonsense you're talking about?" Gil snapped.

"Well, like, Ludwig had kind of always been our leader. But I didn't want him to be anymore. So I made you our leader."

Gilbert blinked. He didn't follow. "I don't remember anyone making Ludwig leader. We never had one. And jumping around like a maniac with one of my weapons can't make me leader either." he added pointedly.

"Yes, but Ludwig always kind of was our Alpha Dog, you know? We just kind of looked at him and he told us what to do and where to sleep and we did it. If you have a uniform and stand up straight people listen. We didn't do it out of fear of him, but he just radiated what people look for."

"No. I don't know what you mean. Ludwig was never our leader. We were just all each in this together. We wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for each one of us. Elizabeta, knock some sense into him for me."

He hadn't meant that literally, but he realized that in the chaos Elizabeta had procured for herself a frying pan from the wall. Elizabeta shifted her weapon of choice innocently behind her. "Feliks is right. No one made Ludwig our leader. But he seemed suited for it, so we listened to him."

His friends were crazy! "He's not any more or less smart or strong than he was yesterday. Why are you making me unofficial leader? I'm a soldier, -a rifleman- not some general." Gilbert said. He knew Elizabeta was more logical than he was and had a killer instinct, despite the fact that she was female. And although undoubtedly a poor choice for authority Feliks had more foresight, luck, and seemed harder to keep down and dead than a Rasputin with gills.

"Because you're ready now. And since Ludwig hates us we both need you to take charge." Elizabeta insisted.

"Liz, have you been in on this?" Gilbert questioned.

"No, Feliks didn't tell me anything. But I'm all for the idea." she said with a smile.

"So whatdayya say, Sir Gilbert?" Feliks chirped, bouncing up next to him.

"Alright, alright. Sure. I'll do it. I'll take on being the leader that-isn't-actually-the-leader. All I require is fifteen weeks vacation, a government pension, free beer all the time, lets see, _hmm..._ "

Gilbert didn't get a chance to finish his thoughts. Elizabeta had stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "And maybe once in a while I'll let you guys tell me what you think." he finished. Somewhere Feliks whooped and exchanged a high-five with Elizabeta.

"Look at us. An ex-Nazi elected in leading a _goddamn_ _fucking democracy._ Jesus, you might as well paint me in those ridiculously ugly stripes and stars and Union Jacks." Gilbert chuckled.

Elizabeta smiled. "Democracy can be weak at times that require quick decisions. As long as you don't get drunk like last night it's a Gilbertatorship."

Gilbertatorship... he decided he liked the sound of that very much. Hopefully Ludwig wouldn't mind.

* * *

 **A/N.** Magister is an old university degree roughly that of an honors bachelors. Germans and Austrians were and still are very formal about titles, and it can be offensive to misaddress someone. Since Roderich is discharged from the army, instead of his rank, he is instead referred to as what educational degree he has.

Roderich was wearing something like Captain von Trapp from the Sound of Music :)

Feedback is appreciated


	42. Chapter 42

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Yes, yes. He could see it! A stone castle for Dictator Gilbert, looming high in the medieval dark forested hills of East Prussia. Perched high on a treed cliff-face with fearsome eagles carved on his stone battlements. Black, white, and gold banners would flutter in the brisk mountain wind. Huge tapestries of beasts and legends and heroes from the days of old would hang from the inside walls. He would feast every night. Feliks would tend to his aviary! Ludwig would polish his boots! Roderich would follow him around tugging a cooler of mead, fanning him with peacock feathers, calling him ' _Sire Gilbert.'_ Elizabeta... Elizabeta would dress as his concubine and he would bed her every night. No, she deserved better. She would be his princess! Scratch that- princesses were frivolous and shallow and shirked responsibility. _His queen!_ He would dress her in the finest furs to keep her warm and silks from all over the world. He would take her anywhere, give her everything she ever wanted. They would go out on their horses and hunt in the forest together. His fiery foreign barbarian queen would have whatever she desired.

...Roderich would still be his beer donkey.

Unbeknownst to his fantasy Elizabeta and Feliks looked at him and exchanged a glance, perhaps sensing his visions of grandeur.

The two started goose-stepping as only Frankenstein's monster could in circles around him, laughing uproariously, occasionally gracing their new leader with sarcastic over-the-top Nazi salutes. They lowered their voices an octave and started babbling to each other about beer and bratwurst and war in what he assumed were the harshest stereotypical German accents foreigners did when already speaking in German. He had the distinct feeling that he was being mocked, but he only laughed at their theatrics. Maybe this was what they did to pass the time as rebels in their countries. Perhaps one time he could show them what he and the other German soldiers thought of the Poles and Hungarians.

"Hey, like, Mr. new supreme leader?" Feliks queried in his normal tone, as he finished one last ridiculous bout of 'Heiling' random inanimate objects in the room.

"Yes, new underling?"

"We're all out of food and money."

"Then we should go get some." Gilbert decided simply. He crossed his legs regally and leaned on the table's single battered wooden chair, which made a poor substitute for a throne.

"How?" the two echoed simultaneously.

"That's easy. We'll just stea- _forage_ for some."

"Okay. How can we help?" Elizabeta asked.

"I think it's best if I do this one alone." he said. They were out of money, and a lone SS was much more efficient than if he were followed by two nervous civilians. He knew what he needed to do and exactly how to do it.

And the two easterners were in no position to argue with their new leader.

"Jawohl, _mein Führer._ " Elizabeta purred, dripping the final word with the most drawling of sarcasms; and an amused smiled played across his face in response. He stood up, strode powerfully to her, took her cheeks gently in his calloused hands and kissed her warmly on the lips.

* * *

 

It was euphoric to be on a mission alone, not having to worry about anyone next to him getting hurt. It was just he himself and Gilbert. Just a man and his wit. Maybe somewhere God was watching him distastefully too, but the delicious freedom to act under his own orders was a liberating weight lifted from his shoulders nonetheless.

He had the freedom of a starving dying wolf, with land to roam and his choice of quarry to hunt. Fat, unintelligent, quarry.

He knew what he could get away with as an SS. He could intimidate for a fairer price on goods if he already had some money, but he couldn't outright take anything with free consent unless he charged the victim with doing something they shouldn't have, and they could attempt to bribe him. He could break into a house, but that was risky and would require a police investigation. He would much rather not kill anyone either. There was pick-pocketing, but he was inexperienced, maybe he could ask that Italian runt for some pointers if he ran into him. In any scenario being noticed by police would result in his immediate arrest; police did not like SS. They'd question him or report him to the army for misconduct, and when they found out he wasn't reporting to anyone and had no legal documents on him, well…

Good thing for him he was sharper and more manipulative than any dumb draft-dodging policeman.

As he toured the city in search of easy prey he noticed some rich fool in a nice section of the city had left the back gate to their fence very slightly ajar. He tested it quietly. The black wrought iron gate was emblazoned with an ornate letter 'Z.' Thick hedges beyond the neat metal bars blocked anyone from seeing in or out. He looked back and forth, an evil grin curling across pale cheeks. Ever the opportunistic hunter, Gilbert slipped inside.

The soldier's instinct in him screamed at his lack of cover as he stood by the fence. Like a shadow on the sea he stealthily hid himself behind the closest object, which happened to be an old wood outhouse. He flattened himself against it and peered out to observe the small yard. Most of it consisted of a garden with stone stepping stones, which looked rather abysmal this time of year but still with some things growing. He didn't see anyone around or lights inside the house. Gilbert instantly ruled entering the dwelling out. Too many glass windows and doors for people to see him and not enough usable escape routes.

He turned his attention to the small garden. There wasn't much of value there, but there had to be something edible if the owner bothered to keep it around. A water pump sprouted from the ground, which he silently coaxed a drink from. The water was frigid in the cups of his hands and tasted of iron and earth. He ran his wet fingers along his prickly throat and face. Incredible, how a drink could make someone feel so much clearer. With renewed energy he squatted down where the visibility to the house was partly obscured and busied himself investigating the plants and pulling some out. He resisted the temptation to eat them. Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped.

"What are you doing?"

The sudden voice didn't startle him. It bore the high and nonthreatening frequency that belonged to the tiny lungs of a young girl. And judging by the fact that she approached a burglar she probably wasn't very smart either. Glancing up from his work he noticed a pair of wide green eyes and boyish dirty blonde hair that reached past a pointed chin. She had a silky royal blue ribbon tucked behind her ear. She wore a dark red dress with lighter vertical stripes and white lace at the bottom. Gilbert might have considered her pretty if she wasn't eleven years old and flat as a crepe. A well loved, stuffed cloth rabbit with long floppy ears was hanging by its neck in her thin hands. Perhaps it was pink at one point but it had faded to a grayish white. One of the buttons sewn on for the eye was mismatched and smaller than the other.

"Just taking some of your food." he replied nonchalantly. He would be over that fence in a moment when she decided to get her parents.

"You are a soldier, aren't you, mister? Don't you have ration packs? Some have candy and coffee in them, don't they?"

"Not this soldier." Gilbert said. "He is very hungry." He ripped another thing that may have been a potato from the ground. Good. He liked potatoes. So did Ludwig. Maybe there were more.

"Oh."

He knew he was not above tricking and hurting this girl if the time came to it. Best if she just gave him permission or left him alone. Better yet, pretended she saw nothing.

"Aren't soldiers supposed to protect their people? Not steal from them?" she questioned, watching him as he scanned for the familiar leaves.

"Yeup." Gilbert grunted, not looking up. "But this one is hungry."

"I don't think you are a soldier." the girl said.

Now that got his attention. "Why not?"

"I think you are just a normal Austrian who stole a soldier's clothes. And are using it to get away with things."

"I assure you I have served many years as a true soldier." Gilbert defended coolly, to his own amusement choosing to use the past tense.

"Can you prove it to me, mister?" she asked softly.

Gilbert calmly lifted his dagger from the scabbard at his belt. He gripped the wooden black handle precisely between his thumb and rested it against his finger. He calculated three rotations, noted the concentrated weight of the pommel, and assumed the center of gravity was about a third past the crossguard. He threw it. Spinning thrice through the air the blade wedged itself five centimeters deep bulls-eye in the knot of a twisted nearby tree, quivering soundlessly.

He heard the girl gasp. But it was a gasp of skill, rather than of fear. Like she was watching a circus performer. She did not seem to grasp that he just as easily could have sunk the blade into her sternum. He grinned at his knife wedged perfectly in the tree. There was something about this lack of fear that intrigued him, much as it had with Elizabeta all of those lifetimes ago. Although the child's bravery seemed to be wrought from naïveté rather than Elizabeta's courageous defiance.

"It is okay mister. We have a little to spare. But I urge you to get out before Brother arrives. That will not bode well for you." she said.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. What was this brother? A fourteen year old with a pocket knife? But if she was letting him steal her food without throwing a tantrum he could respect her wishes. He was too proud to have to do this to some little Austrian girl now. "I'm going to go bake some Pfeffernüsse cookies now." she said abruptly.

"Okay? Good. Oh uh... Girl?"

"Yes mister?" she asked, looking behind her as she started towards the back door of her home. She stood meekly, like a timid little sparrow, with her heels nearly touching each other.

"Her um, _eye_ , kind of..."

The tiny blonde looked on the ground where Gilbert pointed with his gaze. One of the buttons from her rabbit had fallen off in the dirt. She smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks, mister." She crouched down to pick the shiny little black button up.

"No problem."

And she left.

He continued scouring the garden for anything that was possibly edible. He was glad that Elizabeta still had his gloves, it was easier without them. He had collected a small assortment of undergrown vegetables in his left hand. _That makes one potato for me, one for Ludwig, Feliks, and,_

His bare hands strayed over a promisingly large cluster of pointed leaves and grinned. "One for Liz."

Gilbert heard a click behind his head that had become very familiar to him. His hands froze above whatever plant he was about to pick and his eyes went wide.

"If you do not get your ragged pale ass out of my garden right now, I will splatter your filthy SS skull over every damn centimeter of it."

Gilbert realized he did not appreciate this man's tone. He also realized he was very sick of people not in an enemy's uniform pointing weapons at him and expecting him to submit. Whoever the hell this poor bastard was had decided to play cop at a very unlucky time. With a seasoned flick of his wrist Gilbert gripped his pistol from its holster and raised it. He whirled to face his assailant to stalemate him. The first thing he noticed was that this was no defensive civilian, but someone in the uniform of a high ranking German officer. A green-gray Wehrmacht Heer uniform, rather than SS black or gray. In place of a pocketknife was a massive brown Gewehr 41 machine rifle in his hands. His stripes indicated him as a high rank. High ranks did not need to carry monster rifles like that.

"C-captain!?"

"Do you want to be court marshaled, you coffee-stinkin Austrian swine?! What the hell are you doing foraging in the city! Now drop your god damned pistol before I blow your arm off with it, stuff it, and mount it on my mantle!" the blonde newcomer screeched.

Running into a goddamned _Captain_ had not been part of the plan. Gilbert wasn't sure why this officer decided it necessary to instill a difference between himself and the 'Austrians' but when one was hardened in war he quickly learned to focus on the important things and leave the thought pondering for later. He dropped the objects in his hands. "Uh, heil Hitler!"

"Get your filthy hand down. You Germans fucking disgust me! No honor at all!" the Captain shrilled.

He felt his usual snideness rising up inside him at being spoken to this way. "Well I could have hurt your daughter and robbed your house too, but I didn't. How's that for honor?"

"That. Is. My. Sister."

Oh.

Oooohhhhhh.

Fuck.

"Well sir, at least you didn't knock up a girl when you were fifteen. You're much too young to be her father, what was I thinking! Fifteen. I'm not even sure if _I_ was a virgin then. What a good honest fellow you are sir, _certainly I'm not worth your time,_ I'll just be-"

"Shut the fuck up, your voice makes me want to use your brainmatter to fertilize this garden even more. Not that I think you have a lot."

"Shutting up, yes sir."

"That's Captain Zwingli to you."

"Yes sir. Captain Zwingli."

"You do realize you are on _my_ property. No one trespasses here."

_Except for me. Because I just did._ "No. Of course not, sir."

"You trashed half of my garden." he observed. "Give me all of your money."

"You're not allowed to take money from me! That's behavior unbecoming of a commissioned officer!" Gilbert shrilled.

" _You're_ not allowed to be stealing my property! Give me every pfennig you've got!"

Gilbert offered his most winning smile. He was sure it sparkled as wealthily as diamonds, despite not remembering the last time he had used a toothbrush. "How's this?"

"Sickening. Cough up your wallet."

Another guilty grin. "I don't have a wallet or any money, sir."

A shot hit the ground at his feet. Gilbert jumped.

"They pay you SS for the shitwork you do! Stop lying!" the captain roared.

"Honest I don't! Why the hell do you think I was stealing anyway?!"

"Because you're a morally bankrupt piece of goose stepping garba-" Zwingli's sentence broke off into the crisp air. Blondish brows furrowed as he stared at Gilbert. His voice gained a notable calmness. "What happened to your armband, soldier?"

Gilbert glanced to his left arm. "A bullet ripped through it in a firefight two days ago. I couldn't bear the symbol so disgraced, so I removed it."

"There's a uniforms factory hardly ten blocks from here. Certainly they'd give you one if you explained. Why haven't you replaced it yet?"

"Oh... Is there..?" Gilbert gulped.

"Great Matterhorn... What the hell are you?"

Captain Temper Tantrum was quickly treading upon a conclusion Gilbert would rather not be drawn by any German officer. Gilbert was eying the pistol just out of reach on the ground hungrily. Perhaps if he could flip it into the air with his boot, he could catch it and shoot. But no... Zwingli's weapon was already at the ready and he was likely just as fast -and twice as lethal- a draw.

"I said, what are you!?"

"An SS soldier, loyal servant of the Reich and Adolf Hitler." Maybe if he could spin the metal butt of his knife to hit Zwingli between the eyes, it could stun him long enough to… _aww shit._ His knife was in the tree.

"Hitler can kiss my ass. What the hell are you?"

"My! Careful what you say, _Captain_." a predatory smile graced resourceful Gilbert's lips as he discovered his foe's fatal flaw. "The Mauthausen-Gusen camps are not far away from here. You would not want someone to _misinterpret_ what you say." He let the threat hang out in the air. The loyalty of the SS was known to be fanatic, they would easily turn in anyone thought not to be loyal enough or spouting defeatism.

"Watch your filthy tongue, SS! Don't you dare threaten me. I call your bluff. Go ahead."

"It is unwise to joke, Captain." Gilbert warned.

"I'm a _mercenary_. The German army contacted me specifically. As long as I don't write it I can say just about whatever the hell I want in private."

And just like that, with that one simple word, the captain wriggled out of Gilbert's net.

"Well, for a mercenary I must say your German is excellent." Gilbert cooed.

"It's my first language, of course it's excellent you dumbass! I said tell me what the fuck you are!"

"That's a very broad question, Captain. I am of the species _Homo sapiens_ , I am Prussian by nationality, I am male -quiet a handsome one at that-, I was born in Königsberg, although recently I've been living in Berlin, I am the son of a farmer, I am a soldier by profession, I am Protestant, I-"

"No more bullshit. _I said_ ," Zwingli lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. "What the hell are you doing stealing in my garden like a common criminal in uniform without an armband or a rifle. They should be giving you room and board."

"I don't know sir, but I know I'm guilty and I'll get out."

"I never dismissed you! I damn well want to know why!" the Captain yelled.

Why the hell did _he_ want to know why!? Officers weren't supposed to care why so long as it was fixed and punished! Zwingli wasn't even SS!

"That's confidential." Gilbert replied coolly.

"Bullshit."

Gilbert pantomimed locking his lips with his hand, and threw away the invisible key.

"I've had enough of your attitude, smart ass. Because right now I am seriously starting to doubt that there is anything official about you."

"I am nothing but official! Just ask the commander!" Gilbert defended.

"And who, exactly, _is_ your commander?" Zwingli asked slowly.

"Commander Müller."

"That is some high quality bull shit right there, soldier. You should bottle it and sell it."

_Yup_ , Gil thought.

"Listen here. What's your name? If I sense a lie I'm blowing your marrow out."

"Beilschmidt." He answered. He avoided giving the first.

"Alright, _Beilschmidt_ ," the Captain crooned. "Here's how it goes. I am going to place you under my house arrest until I figure out what the hell you are, and who I can return you to."

"I really don't know what you mean, sir. And a house arrest is certainly not necessary, probably not even _legal_ -"

A shot cracked the air near to Gilbert's ear and a spray of black earth beneath him exploded.

"You really shouldn't be firing that so much in such a densely populated area!" Gil blurted after he had recovered. The other people in the city really weren't what were on his mind.

"I'm a goddamned Captain of the Wehrmacht and you're an SS someshit who signed away all of those excuses you people call rights the moment you signed up for military boot camp! Legal is whatever I say is legal! Now come with me!" the Captain barked.

No. Nononononoooo Gilbert Beilschmidt would not doing that. Absolutely not putting himself in that deathtrap of a situation. Ever. He found himself inching towards the metal fence, forget the food. Hell, he would forget his weapons even. He would be content to get out of that situation with just the skin on his back.

"I really can't be doing partaking in arrest at this time, sir. Part of my assignment, you see. Do forgive me." he soothed, discreetly edging back towards the fence as he locked his gaze with the Captain.

"You don't have a damn choice, Sturmmann!" Zwingli reasserted. He stiffly grabbed Gilbert's left wrist.

Gilbert had plenty of choice. There was always a choice in life. Submit, or do something possibly suicidal in stupidity. He chose option two. He had a knack for surviving anyway.

Rather than bolt back towards the fence as the captain would have predicted Gilbert sprung at the smaller man. More specifically, his rifle. Angling it enough so that it wasn't pointed at him he twisted it painfully out of the captain's grasp. He heard it thump on the earth. Gilbert swooped on the ground, grabbed the rifle, and threw it over the fence as far as he could. He heard it clatter on the street.

Now, _now_ he would fly out of that yard like a bat from hell. And hopefully have himself a nice new Gewehr 41.

"Get back here right now!" the Captain roared. Gilbert heard some shifting and extra footsteps as he ran. Hopeless fool. A captain barked orders and did paperwork. A footsoldier trained by running up mountains.

Gilbert made it to the black fence and desperately fiddled with the latch. It had locked! He pushed against it with all of his might but the bars wouldn't budge. He would have to climb over it. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to gauge how much time he had. As he looked back he saw Zwingli was scarcely six meters away and had a new rifle in his hands, wielding it like a bat. A different one. Those footsteps he heard weren't the captain trying to chase him- he was getting a weapon! Was he such a firearms fanatic that he kept a spare rifle in his garden?

He saw the Captain heft the heavy wooden rifle above his head grimace. All Gilbert had time to do was raise his forearm above his head in defense. The rifle-club swung down with astonishing speed. There was a blazing flash of white. Gilbert briefly remembered his temple hurting and his knees buckling as his hand slid from the lock. Then it went dark.

* * *

**-Lili Zwingli-**

She shouldn't be here.

Brother would not like that.

He had told her not to.

She crept down the stairs, quietly muffling the creak of the door behind her with both of her hands. The man in the chair was sleeping before. Although Brother told her to call it 'unconscious' or 'passed out,' because it was apparently a very special type of sleeping.

His wrists and ankles were bound with strong white rope to a chair in the stone Zwingli cellar. The only spot Vash had thought fit to put him. He looked cold and wiry, dirty and sweaty. He was in need of a haircut too; because the light strands that fell into his eyes were at least four weeks past the last time had had received the standard military buzz to keep the lice away. Blood dripped from his palms, which he clenched tightly into fists even in his sleep. Maybe he had come fresh from a battle of some sort, that would explain why he looked so exhausted. But she didn't think there were any battles nearby here. The Russians were halfway through Poland and Hungary, and the Americans and British and Canadians were fighting through Belgium and France. Maybe the person had just been stationed at one of the flak towers during a raid. Vash had said that it was dirty and loud and chaotic in there too when the soldiers had to defend the city. Not that Vash actually had to shoot planes, lower men did that. Maybe the stranger had been fighting at the edge of Italy. There was still some fighting there.

The eyes flared open. They were an odd shade of brown. They studied the cold cement that was around him. His tongue darted out of his mouth to slowly swipe away at the blood on his cracked lips. He looked like some sort of ghost, a demon, with chalky white skin and intelligent dark eyes.

"Uh... Hi." she said quickly. "My name is Lili."

He did not respond. Maybe she spoke too quietly. She wanted to look into his eyes, to see what he was thinking. But she couldn't. Their color intimidated her. She knitted her hands together and twirled the toe of her right shoe nervously.

But she saw he kept looking at his hands, flexing and unflexing his fingers.

"You were talking in your sleep." she said, looking softly at him. She sat down on the steps a few meters away, so she was eye-level with him. Not that she looked there.

"I was talking in my sleep? I don't do that." the ghost-man said.

"You kept thrashing around, kept mumbling _'They're not safe! Not safe with him!_ '"

His eyes widened in realization. His arms strained against the binds of the chair. "My friends need my help! I need to get out of here _right now!"_

"I'm sorry. I can't help you this time. But you might want to go back and reread a history textbook. The construction of the Hohenzollern Castle and the reign of Ludwig the Mad were in entirely different time periods."

The man clenched his fists and his teeth and bucked against the chair, leaning all of his weight on his toes to smash the back legs on the cement of the floor. She saw the muscles of his arms ripple with the effort underneath the dark fabric of his sleeve as he tried to rip his hands free from the arms of the chair. He groaned with effort. She saw the white ropes slowly tint pink then red as he ground his pale wrists against them.

He could not break the ropes. Vash had said they could not be broken and so they would not be broken. He wouldn't take any risks with her in the house. But then again, he had given her _clear_ instruction to stay out of the cellar...

The man's muscles relaxed and she heard him panting heavily. He could not break the ropes.

"I have a question." the man said flatly, between his breaths.

"Okay. But Brother told me not to believe anything that you tell me. Unless it is about one very specific thing."

"I ain't telling you nothing. I'm just askin, and you can tell me or don't."

"Okay. Ask. And I'm not allowed to tell you the thing that I should believe you if you say."

"Why did you tie my hands in front of me? Instead of behind me?"

She was surprised by this question. Why did it matter? "I... I don't know Mister. Brother did it."

He looked odd, sure, the way his wrists were bound to the arms of the seat. Like a bad person strapped to an American electric chair she had seen in a newsreel with Vash. But in reality she knew it was just an ordinary carved wooden chair that Brother had taken from upstairs. She put her arms in front of her, bending them at parallel right angles at the elbow like his were. A little unnatural, but the position did not feel uncomfortable to her.

"Is it uncomfortable for you?" Lili asked.

"No. It feels fine." he said gruffly.

"Then why do you wonder?"

"It's just familiar to me. That's all. I don't like being in it."

"Why don't you like it, Mister?"

He looked at her softly, as if deciding what he should say. She looked down at her shoes. They were shiny and black against her white stockings, with a little buckle across the top.

"Sometimes if you want people to _talk._.." he trailed off. "You do certain things to their hands. And you can't do it if they're tied behind their backs."

"How do you know this?" she asked.

He looked guiltily at the ground. Again, he didn't answer. "You are either very brave or very stupid talking to me. What are you doing here, girl?"

"Are you well?" she asked him, forcing herself to stare at his body, even if she couldn't look into his eyes.

"I'm fine." he replied stiffly, thrusting his chin up into the air.

"You said you were hungry before. Is that true?"

"No." he grunted. The moment he finished his last word his stomach grumbled loudly, as if it heard and wanted to protest.

"I finished these a little while ago. The Pfeffernüsse cookies I was talking about. Here, please have one. I can't eat them all by myself, and Brother only ever has one or two..."

She held the cookie she had brought up to him. He narrowed his eyes wordlessly at it, like how a stray dog would.

"You'll try one, please Mister? I worked so very hard on baking them. They're still warm."

Hesitantly she brought the little cookie to his mouth. After a moment of staring quizzically at her he took it. She saw him chew and swallow. His tongue swiped at the white powder on his lips, just like how it rapped at the blood a few minutes before. Although it seemed to be savoring this a bit more.

"It's good!" he said. "My mother used to make ones just like these when I was little! But between you and me..."

He winked at her and smiled, and for the first time she realized she was looking into his eyes. Although she had a hard time imagining the old soldier ever having been her age.

"Yours are a little bit better."

At these words Lili's lips parted in an overjoyed smile. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head, ecstatic. Vash only rarely complimented her. "Thank you Mister! I shall bring a tray of some more right away! We can share them!"

She recognized the familiar drop of a key in a lock and the sharply enunciated boot clicks of someone entering the house above. She froze. Brother was back.

"I have to go!" she blurted.

"Wait, is the Captain-"

"I have to go." Lili spun on the toes of her flat shoes and fled up the wooden steps.


	43. Chapter 43

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Gilbert was seriously beginning to empathize with that Russian Ivan for having tried to smash him open with a rifle. Even when not shot with it sonofabitch those things _hurt_. It was painful to try and think of a way to escape when his head hurt so bad. Stupid captain with his fancy house, the army never gave Gilbert a house to live in. He and Ludwig just got neighboring cots.

Or bedrolls.

Or patches of dirt.

Ice.

Rocks.

The Heer green uniform of Captain Zwingli marched down the stairs, ignored him, and turned to a tall wooden cabinet on the wall. He opened it with a key and swung the double doors ajar. In neat vertical rows were about six different rifles. If he had so many Gilbert understood why he would keep a spare outside. The man was obsessed.

Zwingli selected one from the rack, gently caressing it in his hands before resting it vertically on the ground. He folded his hands neatly over the butt and rested his chin on it, to appraise chairbound Gilbert at eye level.

Not quite close enough to spit, unfortunately.

"How are you doing, Sturmmann?" Zwingli asked with a smile.

Gilbert should start with a question. A 'why did you tie me up?' A desperate plead for freedom. Or an accusation of how inhumane it was for him to be restrained like this. Gilbert, however, was going to skip such trivial formalities. He was a professional. He hardened his eyes, set his lips into a grim horizontal slash, and lowered his voice to a frigid seriousness. He breathed out a sigh through his nostrils.

"I should be fucking the screams out of my beautiful girlfriend right now on a dining room table while she beats me with a frying pan. Not tied to a chair in the house of some idiotic captain with a gun fetish. I _do_ hope you realize what an inconvenience you are, sir."

It took Zwingli -who no doubt already had some sort of intimidation speech prepared- a second to recover his expression at the apparent lax of his prisoner. Gilbert just grinned like a fox.

"Pleasantries aside, I have two friends in mortal danger of another friend right now, and I don't make a lot of friends. So if you could let me go so I could save the day, that'd be real sweet of you." Gilbert continued dryly.

Zwingli stood up crossly. "Sounds just like what a trapped liar would say. Just tell me what the hell your deal is, Beilschmidt. I don't know who to give you to or what to do with you since you've got no papers, but I'll ship you off to general HQ tomorrow morning and they'll sort you out. With persuasion, if necessary."

Gilbert flashed his best disappointed smile. "Aww, and here I thought you were going to pull my nails out yourself. Or at least split my fingers down the middle or something, Cap. Can't you at least try to make this entertaining for me?"

"You're sick, you SS scum."

"Sicker'an a Spaniard in 1919. Why do you _care_ so much anyway, Mercenary? Apparently I've done something I'm not supposed to have." It was evident that the Captain had figured something out. Gilbert wasn't going to go howling Hitler's name to his grave if he didn't have to. "Just shoot me and be done with it already."

"Let's just say I'm curious." Zwingli kicked the bottom of the chair he was tied on.

Gilbert felt his head snap back. He clamped his teeth down to stop a pained grunt from escaping his lips. At the movement, something small and papery fluttered out of Gilbert's coat. A photograph, it looked like. Odd.

He squinted at it on the floor. It was strangely familiar. He realized that the tiny color picture was of Roderich Edelstein. From somewhere, a fuzzy memory of his playing with it surfaced. It must have slipped in his clothing somehow.

Zwingli bent down to pick it up from the cement. He held it in front of his face and gasped.

"You recognize him...?" Gilbert inquired, studying the man's curious expression.

Zwingli swung suddenly in his face, close enough for Gilbert to scent his breath, which smelled vaguely of cheese. His eyes were wide and dangerous. He tapped the picture menacingly. "Do you know this man?"

Gil weighed his options carefully. "Hm, I _might_ know of a certain Magister Edelstein."

"His surname! How?"

"Now Cap'n," Gilbert purred. "Suppose a smart man wanted to live, why would he allow himself to become expendable by telling his interrogator all that he wanted?"

The broadside of the rifle struck his skull so quick Gilbert scarcely had time to even close his eyes. His teeth were forced down to bite on his bottom lip from the blow. He coughed red onto the cement. The salty tang of blood flooded his mouth as he carefully probed the injury with his tongue, licking at the warmth that spilled over his lips. He slid his tongue from one canine tooth to the other, effectively staining his incisors a sanguine red and swallowed. He grinned at the captain, maliciously displaying his handiwork across the glistening facets of his reddened teeth and lips.

" _Mmm._ I was hoping for a snack."

The absolute disgust and abhorrence that plastered itself across the captain's countenance held for a moment. His evident revulsion only caused Gilbert's bloody grin to broaden further and a bolstering pang of victory to shoot through his chest. Then the albino was rewarded for his theatrics with another brutal smack with the club, this time in the arm.

"Filthy heathen!" the captain spat.

"Aaw, no need to be so mean. Even us _filthy heathens_ have nerve endings." he pouted, the sparkles in his red eyes dancing cruelly with mock sadness.

Zwingli was glowering at him viciously, green eyes glittering in the low light that came from the single lightbulb behind him. "How do you know him?"

He would link a vague association to save his skin. But how he knew Roderich from his job and by link his traitordom he would not sell out. Roderich's address would certainly be on census records, it would be easy to track down his residence, and from that even find out about Eliza Feliks and Ludwig. The pretentious purple-eyed poodle would never hold up under interrogation as well as he could. Especially when faced with real Gestapo or SS professionals. Gilbert kept his mouth shut.

"Answer me, you white haired little rat!"

Gilbert sighed exaggeratedly.

"Last chance." Zwingli warned.

No answer.

"Alright, enough of this childsplay." Zwingli unearthed a small gray pistol from inside of his clothing. He opened up the chamber and started unloading it. Gilbert raised a silver eyebrow questioningly.

"I am going to take all of these bullets out. See?" Zwingli displayed a bullet between each of the valleys of his digits on his left hand to the Prussian. "Except for this one. This one is my favorite." He rolled one of them between his thumb and index finger, before inserting it back into the gun and spinning the chamber and slapping it closed.

"So you see, if I pull this trigger there is a one-in-six chance of the gun firing on you." Zwingli flicked the safety off.

Gilbert scowled. All of this buildup and it came down to a simple game of Russian roulette. How droll. He boredly puffed a lock of silver hair out of his eyes.

That was when the captain wordlessly lowered the cold pistol to the head he wasn't quite expecting. He did not mean the one on his shoulders.

"Are you ready? Good. Now, how do you know this man in the picture?"

Gilbert gawked at the firearm pressed below his belt like it was some sort of alien parasite that had sprouted suddenly. A very human fear manifested itself by the standing up of the translucent hairs on the back of Herr Professional's neck.

"Hey! I'll let you off the hook for not knowing; but between us torturing scumbags we have ourselves a little unspoken creed: no tampering with another man's frank and eggs!" Gilbert blurted.

 _ttcckkk!_ The sound of the trigger violently expelling a nothing from the chamber. He felt the uncomfortable vibrations through the gun barrel pressed up against his sensitive area.

"I am not SS. Don't expect me to play like one." Zwingli replied coolly.

"Might I suggest first threatening to crack off a few of those less-important fingers?" Gilbert supplied hastily.

"No."

_ttcckkk._

"Jesus Christus Captain! Knock it off!"

"I don't think so."

Gilbert squirmed. That pistol held six shots. The first time would have had a one out of six chance of firing for about 17%. Then since there was one less spot the bullet could be the second time it was 20% An additional 25% for the third. If he added all of those up it would total 62% by the next time he pulled the trigger. Crap, did it even work that way? Was he supposed to add them up? Wouldn't that eventually total more than 100%? He really wished he had paid more attention in school back when they were actually teaching useful things.

He also wondered how calculating the odds would help him anyway.

"Answer me, Beilschmidt."

tccckk.

_Hey God. It's me. I know I've been kind of a jerk in the past, and I'm still totally a big dummkopf at times, but I've changed. I really have. I also really happen to like my balls. They make me happy. And because they are larger than most they would be a rather easy target that would be very difficult to miss. So if there's something you could do to keep this loon from shooting them off, I (and Elizabeta Héderváry and my future progeny) would be very appreciative._

_Forever yours,_

_Gilbert Beilschmidt._

That was when Gilbert heard a phone ring upstairs. Zwingli spewed a brief string of curses in a swift language with not nearly enough consonants to be German.

_Thank you God! If you ever need anything done down on Earth, just let me know!_

_"_ I have to get this. I'm expecting something important. You stay here." the captain ordered.

Because Gilbert would totally be going somewhere, tied down as he was.

XXXX

Zwingli's rapid words floated down from upstairs as Gilbert slowly twisted his wrists raw in the binds. He had managed to get the left one a little loose but... not enough to be useful. _"Chapeschas ti? A pei... Per plaschair!...Ah...Buna notg, sin seveser."_ He had been on the phone for over an hour. Eventually he heard the chiming slam of the telephone being set back on its rotary. His interrogator promptly returned down the stairs, looking reasonably angered.

"Hey. What funny language was that? I haven't heard it before. Sounds like Italian." Gil asked in greeting.

"It sounded nothing like Italian, dumbass." Zwingli huffed. "Get that crap out of your ears."

"Well, one: I can't reach there, unless you are volunteering to do that for me. And two: it sure did! I heard someone speak a bunch of Italian just a few days ago, s'matter of fact!"

"I was speaking Romansh, you idiot. It's like old Latin and modern Italian got horny one night and fucked each other. This is their bastard child." Zwingli dug his pistol out again. Gilbert's heart sank.

"Romansh?" Gilbert queried quickly, trying to stall. "Why would a little language like that survive?"

"It's very remote. Now, back on subject. Why do you have this man's picture? Did you know him? Were you dispatched to assassinate him?"

"I mean, you'd have to be isolated in the middle of the sea or mountains somewhere by Italy for an old tiny language like that to survive."

"You didn't answer me."

"Romansh...Mountains... You're a Swiss!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Oh my God! You're a _Swiss!_ "

There was a flash of shock and recognition on the man's face that flashed through his eyes for just a millisecond. The man's grip on the pistol faltered.

"Keep your voice down, swine!" Zwingli hissed.

"My God!" The dumb foreigner nearly as much of a rule breaker as he was. "It's illegal for a Swiss citizen to serve a foreign military for neutrality purposes! Does anyone know that you're Swiss?" gasped Gilbert.

"Shut up, damn you! Do you want the neighbors to hear you?!" the bereted blond snarled.

"So that's why you sound so damn funny! Go ahead, _tell me_ you're not a Swiss!" the Prussian goaded.

"Shut up you stupid Nazi- or whatever the fuck imposter you are! You just lost your last sliver of a chance at me ever letting you go alive!"

"Why'd you do that? Join the higher ups of our army?"

"Money is money." the Swiss replied gruffly, turning away.

"Ain't you all getting fat off of Jew gold in Switzerland? Why risk your hide for a country that's not yours?"

"No more questions!" Zwingli barked, slamming the butt of the rifle on the ground.

"I think I know why." Gil continued doggedly.

"You do _not_ know why."

"I bet I do. I can quote Hitler for you." Gilbert replied smoothly.

"Shut. Your. Mouth!" Zwingly bashed the chair legs viciously with a sweeping blow of the gun's barrel.

 _"We will hunt little Switzerland, when we are returning home.'_ You joined because back in nineteen-forty-something you realized that Switzerland was going to get slammed with _Operation Tannenbaum_ and be taken over as soon as we had Paris for lunch and Moscow for dinner. So some opportunity came up and you tried to save yourself and your sister and make some dough using your talents for us. But Hitler never did 'return home', did he?"

"Who are you to question my morality?!" Zwingli shot. "Your maggot-ridden rotting carcass has sold your soul to the devil for far less than that!"

"But you can't get back, eh? Refugee regulations too tight now, hmm? _The Swiss lifeboat is full_ , as you people say. They certainly wouldn't grant a German Captain amnesty. Especially if they found out he was actually a traitor to his birthland."

"That is enough!"

"But you are hardly a traitor anyway, huh. Switzerland has always been on our side. We just couldn't invent a Panzer that could climb the alps. But now that we're losing the war you've got a foot in each world, and the ground here won't be steady for long. But you're not the only one looking to escape." Gilbert said.

"You're wrong! Switzerland has done plenty of noble things in this war! We have taken in thousands of people and troops! General Henri Guisan condemned Nazi violation of our airspace! Our presses have relentlessly ridiculed the Reich! We understood that when the Americans bombed us they were only accidents! We mobilized our entire nation against the invasion threat in _three days_!" the captain shot.

"And what, exactly, would you have done if the Nazis _had_ invaded?"

"Made the cost of invading too high. We would stockpile supplies in the alps and cede major population centers while keeping railways and mountain passes. We know the mountains, we would use guerrilla warfare until every last loyal Swiss man and woman and a hundred times as many Nazis were dead."

"Not what your people would do. What if Hitler's orders were that _your_ men invade Switzerland? What would you do? Kill yourself? What about Lili?"

"I... I don't know what I would do." Zwingli responded, lowering his chin.

Gilbert smirked. "Seems you are just as torn between yourself and your orders as I was, friend."

"I am not your friend, German!"

" _Prussian_ , if you must, please."

"There's not a difference anymore, you idiot."

"...Would you go back?" Gilbert asked a bit more earnestly. "Back home, to Switzerland if you could? Fake a noble death worthy of the great hall and just run away?"

"Of course I would! But that's not possible. As you said; regulations are too tight. I'll just wait until the war is over. Shouldn't be so long now."

"B-but!" Gilbert spluttered. "What if they send you _east_ next! Do you have any idea what the Russians will do if they catch a Nazi Captain at this point in the war? They'd chop you up in the stew and feed you to the soldiers!"

"I just have to hope they station me here for a while."

"You could enter Switzerland illegally! Screw the immigration and just disappear into some tiny village! Do you know the way?"

"Of course! I know every mountain and lake between Zürich and Chur. I considered just running... but that's not possible."

"Why not?"

"I could manage alone but...Lili. My sister. I couldn't ask that of her. I've been teaching her to shoot, but I can't have her watch me kill someone if it came down to it. She's too young. Or spend a cold winter night in the Alpine forest, or trudge through a sewer. It's so dangerous, I couldn't watch her and keep myself alive at the same time. I'd have to grow another pair of eyes to do that."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "You ain't gotta go at it alone, Cap."

* * *

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

"And this one is Piotrek?"

"No, that's Arkadiusz; Piotrek only has five legs."

"Okay, then this one is Piotrek?"

"No, that is Wojciech."

"Then who are those ones?"

"That's Krzysiek, Michał III, Czarek, and Monika."

"Is Monika female?"

"I don't know. Do they, like, even have genders?"

"I think so. Everything does. Even bugs, right?"

Feliks shook his head and grinned hopelessly. "I seriously have no idea."

Elizabeta and Feliks had been passing the time giving names to all of the cockroaches in the building.

…. It was Feliks's idea.

At that moment the door swung open with a creak. She heard the crack of a heavy boot crunching on something organic.

"Nooo! Norbert Junior, niieee!" Feliks cried, diving down at the ground at Ludwig's feet.

Ludwig lifted his boot up. "What are you going on about?" he bit, eying the Pole groveling on the floor. He swung his head towards Elizabeta for explanation, but she just stared back. She wasn't going to try and explain what they had really been doing.

"Hi Ludwig." she gulped.

"Where is Gilbert?"

"Gone." She realized the significance of the only person standing between herself, Feliks, and Ludwig's pistol being MIA.

"He said he was going out. That he was going to try and find some stuff. But the thing is he's been gone for about eight hours." she added quickly, before Ludwig could dwell on the prior part for too long.

Ludwig shook his head crossly. "Idiot."

"Do you know what might be taking him so long?" she asked.

"No."

There was something about this simple 'no' that rubbed her the wrong way. She felt her eyes flash dangerously. "What do you mean _no?_ Between the three of us you're his brother and the one that knows the most about his nature and about whatever sorts of crime he's committing! Don't give me a ' _no!'"_

Ludwig narrowed his eyes at her, standing up to his full height. Elizabeta only so much as came up to his jaw.

"How am I supposed to figure out exactly what he is doing if I do not even know what he said before he left? Eight hours is a long time to do this sort of thing in a city, with so many opportunities I imagine it would only take someone like Gilbert a maximum of three to return. Yet ultimately all I know is what you have told me: that he is not here."

"So what do you think happened to him? Did he get lost?" she pressed.

"Gilbert has a fine sense of direction."

"Distracted?"

"As obnoxious and foolish as he can be usually, you know he is intelligent enough to know when to take things seriously."

"Hurt?" she prompted.

"He did not survive all of those months fighting alongside me in the Bloodlands only to maim himself walking down the stairs."

"You said yourself he should have been back by now. Then what the heck should we do!" Elizabeta shouted.

"I _suppose,_ " Ludwig growled. "We should go look for him."

"How? Should we split up?" Feliks supplied.

"But the city is huge. He could be anywhere within twenty kilometers! How can three people possibly search all of that before dark?" she gasped.

"That is enough of disheartening yourself with the obvious, Elizabeta. Leave the strategizing to the professionals."

She wondered briefly why that last word was plural. Certainly he wouldn't choose to conspire with Feliks over her just because he was male. Ludwig opened the door he had just emerged from.

"Both of you will be staying here. I will return shortly."

Elizabeta raised her chin, standing up between him and the doorway and balling her fists. "No! You are not going to go wandering off _Isten-knows-where_ while we sit here uselessly panicking about Gilbert! Feliks and I are coming with you."

"Is that so? I think it best for both of you that you heed my advice..." Ludwig added with a calm hardness in his tone, looking down at her.

She quashed the fear in her stomach as she stared up into his icy eyes. "No! We have to help!"

"You are very poor at listening to directions, Elizabeta."

"Yeah, maybe I am!" _At least I'm not a sheep that listens to them too well._

Ludwig released one single, barking laugh. That dark evil rumble that would haunt her dreams. He closed his eyes and grinned a bit. " _Fine then_ , come. Feliks too. Perhaps you will learn something. Keep up."

"Good! We will!" she yelled back. Feliks kept glancing at her warningly. She stalked out the door after Ludwig and Feliks followed.

"Take your things or anything else of value. I don't imagine either of you will be coming back." Ludwig said.

That made her walk a little slower. There was a certain danger in his voice that reminded her just why she hated the Nazis enough to join the resistance back home. "Way to go get yourself hurt the moment we need you the most." she whispered. A searing cold talon of worry stabbed her heart when she mentioned Gilbert privately to herself rather than to Ludwig. She picked at the soft leather gloves Gilbert had left her nervously.

"Fearless leader, please, _please_ be okay..."

Ludwig glanced back over his shoulder at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing, Ludwig."

Early afternoon light flooded the Viennese streets full of people going about their business. Bicycles buzzed by along with horse carriages and the stray black automobile. Wherever it was, she started seeing more SS scattered among the civilians as she walked the street. Every few seconds she would see the familiar black or gray uniforms. Most of them were Waffen gray. A few of the black ones smiled or saluted at Ludwig.

"We are there." Ludwig said, halting about in front of an absolutely normal-looking building without facing it.

"Like, where? This lovely square of gray cement and icy street gutter mud?" the Pole snickered.

"Must be." Eliza snorted.

"We are not just going to stand right in front of it and talk plans, you idiots. Look."

Ludwig stepped into the shadows closer to the edge of the street and gestured at the road in front of him, at a place with black and gold awning. The glass storefront was blacked out. Writing she couldn't make out was written on it in the standard thick gothic Gutenberg frakturscript, like a newspaper name or some sort of medieval charter. There were some other symbols underneath it on the glass too, in viking letters, that she was sure was not German or any other language she had ever seen written in the common era. It wasn't even Romanized. She did see however, that emblazoned on the awning front were thick gold lightning-bolt SS runes.

"What is it?" Feliks asked.

"It is called an officer's club. Gilbert used to like going to them. This one is for SS only." Ludwig said.

A pair of blacksuited SS strolled by, silver Todenkopfs embroidered on their collar patches, not paying particular attention to the three of them. Bits of their conversation floated to her ears as the men passed.

"...almost hate 'em as much as I hate the gays."

"Aww, don't be so mean to the faggots at camp, Hans. Some of'em got some use in em."

"Horseshit. You drunk already? Only good fag I've ever seens' a dead one. As useless as the Jews, they are."

"Nah!"

"Nah?"

"The pink triangles they wear are just the perfect size for target practice, don't you think?"

The two passing SS both laughed like demons. Then they disappeared into the club.

'For SS,' Ludwig had said. _Real_ SS. Not imposters like Gilbert or even his brother, she realized. Blackhearted devils from the deepest pits of hell who walked the earth in the shimmering glistening hides of the men they killed. Overgrown school bullies who thought themselves to be knights with a holy purpose. Taking trophies from bodies, gleefully sadistic wolves slaughtering indiscriminately under the excuse of the Reich. She had dealt with them in the camps but at that point she had already accepted her own probable death- and she later knew she had one looking out for her. Ludwig would not go to such lengths to protect her now. She had the carrot of freedom and survival dangling in front of her, only to be confronted with such monstrosity. A terror jolted like white hot lightning through her stiff veins at the sight. A primal fear to flee. She and Feliks had been brought as live meat to the lion's den. The hive of swarming blood-driven vermin.

She wanted more than almost anything to be gone.

"I'm going." she declared quietly, pivoting on her toes to walk in the opposite direction. She felt something unyielding grasp the cloth of her collar from behind, halting her midstride like a dog on a leash.

"You are not leaving now. You wanted so bad to come with me and now you are here." Ludwig announced.

She debated struggling. He only had her with one hand; if she was sudden she knew she could break free and run. But ultimately decided that struggling noticeably in the grasp of an SS outside the club would bring the sharks to blood. He released her after a moment.

"Elizabeta, do you know what SS do?" he asked.

"They kill people."

"Some of us guard prisoners. Some are bodyguards of politicians and even the Führer himself. Some are interrogators. Some are soldiers in special units on the front lines. Some are police and assassins. A group of men -and even some women- with a plethora of talents. Gilbert and I have served as several of these over the course of this war. Jobs that the common draftee either through physical inadequacy or psychological weakness is unfit to undertake. But if I can find one that has served as an assassin in the city, he will know of local resources to track down people covertly. This is what we need, and why I brought us here."

"What do you want _us_ to do?" Feliks growled.

"Feliks, on the grounds that he is male, will never be allowed in. You will wait around the corner out of sight of the club. _However…"_ Ludwig's eyes lifted from hers for a moment, where a tall graysuited SS led two intoxicated long haired women on his arms inside.

" _Elizabeta_ would be allowed inside if she accompanied me." he explained.

Her eyes went wide. "I don't want to go in there."

"Of course you don't now. You should have listened. But now I have to teach you. Feliks, wait outside."

"Elizabeta can wait with me. She doesn't have to go in." Feliks protested.

"Feliks. _Go_." Ludwig ordered. He looked over to the edge of the block, towards a bench near a fountain.

Feliks looked at her pleadingly for a moment. But without a means to defend his words and argue with an SS right outside of their nest his hands were tied. He walked toward where he was told, bumping clumsily into Elizabeta. He did not look at her but she heard him whisper something. "Seven minutes. If you need to leave, meet at door."

She watched the mop of straw-colored hair recede into the distance, swinging gently with each of his steps.

"I do not like this any more than you do." Ludwig rumbled. He moved forward towards the building with the dark glass, walking closer to her than he had been previously. She forced herself into step at his side. It didn't feel right. Ludwig moved eerily like Gilbert, the soundless predatory prowess they both projected and perhaps even learned from his brother, but the shadow at the side of her vision Ludwig eclipsed was much too bulky to ever be Gilbert.

"Should I pretend to be drunk like those other women we saw?"

"No. That is not necessary." the German said quickly. "Just try and act like how a woman in this age should for once."

A meek, happy, needle pointing, young mother working away in a kitchen wearing a dirndl, she assumed he meant. Music and the sound of a woman singing resonated faintly from inside when she got closer, as the sharp tang of tobacco and alcohol. Ludwig was about to open the door for her when an older man with a round belly stepped out at the same time, nearly knocking her over.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" she started.

Ludwig's eyes went wide, quickly flashing to the patches on the man's collar. A long thin, black sheathed decorative sword hung from the man's hip. He must have been someone important, because Ludwig immediately released the door.

"My apologies, Obersturmführer. She didn't see you coming." her companion said as he stepped out of the flow of potential traffic. _I was about to apologize for myself, thank you very much. Not that it was even my fault._

"We all make mistakes, Scharführer...?"

"Beilschmidt." Ludwig answered. He stiffly raised his right arm at the elbow. "Heil Hitler."

The Major copied the gesture. "Heil Hitler."

The other SS looked like he was about to continue on his way when he looked at Elizabeta expectantly. After a moment of him staring at her she slowly mimicked Ludwig's half salute. "Heil Hitler!"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ludwig glaring at her furiously despite the calm smile his lips remained pressed in. The Major's lips sunk into a firm frown. She had made a mistake. She had done the abbreviated salute: the one only ranking men had the right to greet each other with.

She raised her hand up all the way to cut the air, locked her elbow tightly, and straightened out her fingers in the full roman salute."Sieg heil! Sieg heil!"

Satisfied with her new gesture and chant the senior Nazi closed his eyes and nodded. "Good. Scharführer, who is this?"

"This," Ludwig introduced, gesturing gently toward her. "Is my lovely fiancé Katharina. We are to be wed in the spring."

She feigned a smile at the major and performed a modest curtsy towards him. "An honor and a pleasure to meet you, Obersturmführer."

The man eyed her with a distasteful frown while she smiled falsely at him. Not once did he bother to meet her gaze. He looked back at Ludwig as if she weren't there. "You could do much better than her. Your blood is among the purest I've seen, it hurts me to see it go to waste. Her hair is much too dark."

All of the sudden she felt Gilbert's familiar lips press and purse warmly on her cold right cheek. Only for her subconscious to be horrendously disappointed when she saw Ludwig's repugnant krautish pigface with his long chin, brutishly flat Neanderthal brow and tall cheekbones, full ruddy lips, and tundra blue irises staring back at her. Ludwig had kissed her on the cheek. For a flashing nanosecond the message in his eyes was telepathically clear.

_I did not do that for you._

"Oh no, certainly not Major." Ludwig soothed. "I would never taint the future of our people so wantonly. My blood is not just mine, after all. She is a talented actress from Munich. She dyed her hair brown for a role. Her true hair is even blonder than mine."

"Ah, good good! I was worried for a moment. Shame about the eyes, they are just a few shades off." the officer noted.

"Mine will likely dominate anyway. I would not worry sir. She will bear many healthy Aryan children."

"That's the spirit!" the Nazi said warmly. "I wish you many sons after the big date. Good day, Scharführer Beilschmidt. May the Führer's grace watch over you both."

"You as well. Good day, Obersturmführer." Ludwig returned.

Ludwig saluted abbreviatedly one last time at the officer as he walked away. Elizabeta let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Ludwig quickly pulled her into an alcove.

"I changed my mind." Ludwig huffed as he faced her abruptly, the moment the impronounceable German squad leader whatever-he-was was out of earshot. "You will not accompany me inside. You would not be able to help anyway. You will wait for my return with Feliks. I absolutely do _not_ want to have to recreate that idiotic charade again."

Good, it seemed they were in agreement for once.

* * *

Feliks was happy to see her at his cement bench on the corner of the street. She filled him in.

"Daww." Feliks pawed at her umber brown curls as he sat next to her, loosely braiding a few with an adeptness that would have been surprising had it been any other boy. "I always thought your hair was real pretty, Lizzie. Don't listen to any stupid Huns."

She felt a pair of eyes burning into her backside. She looked up to see one of a pair of SS or gestapo looking at her from across the intersection. When she looked at him he spat the butt of his cigar on the ground and met her stare evenly. She quickly looked down at her shoes.

In front of her she saw someone that appeared familiar to her rushing out of the square from the direction of the SS club, using some strange form of locomotion that was fast as he could go without directly having both feet airborne at the same time. As if to move quickly, but without attracting too much attention. A rolled up sheet of paper was in his hand. From the bench she addressed him, making eye contact with him as he passed. "Hey, sorry, do I know you?"

"I don't know mademoiselle I would love to chat but I have to go bye!" he quickly tore himself away and disappeared into the throngs of people, after another blonde man.

Strange. She wondered what that was about.

The Hungarian looked up again to the dark forms on the far side of the street. They were both looking at them now. "Feel, do you think those guys have been looking at us for a while?"

"Who?"

"Two blacksuit SS. Two o'clock."

Feliks swiveled his head over to where she mentioned to stare at the two men. "I wouldn't pay them any mind. There's like, a whole hive of them down the street. There's bound to be some around."

"You're not afraid?"

"Elizabeta; something interesting happens the first time you kill an SS. A little switch turns on in your head. You realize they're not invincible. You realize that they're made of flesh and blood just like you are. You realize that if you don't want to, you don't have to be the prey."

"You... You've killed an SS before."

"Many. Not hand-to-hand."

"Do Ludwig and Gil know?"

"Well heck, I'm certainly not going to _tell_ them if it's not gonna help. I know they've both killed Poles before even if they don't tell me. S'nonna their business what I did in the AK back home. We've got enough trouble right now...What I wanna know is, you think he'll get caught? Ludwig? If Gil got caught?"

"I hate to admit it..." Elizabeta started guiltily. "But Ludwig is a damn good actor. I think he'll accomplish what he came to do without anyone suspecting anything."

Feliks shrugged and resumed swinging his feet.

"Hey." Feliks whispered, tapping her on the shoulder. He looked over to his left, where Ludwig and another SS were walking and conversing. The new stranger was young and talked with his hands, smiling a bit. Ludwig nodded agreeably every once in a while, occasionally adding in something. She caught a few words as they passed. It was the SS who was talking, his voice flavored with the local strong Bavarian accent.

"...it's just this way, on the river. Supposedly it's run by these few crazy Scandinavians. I swear, every time I walk by this grinning idiot tries to sell me some fish. They have this little white dog with them though, she can track down anyone with just a scent sample no matter what. I heard this rumor from the guy who runs the shop that under an avalanche the little mutt found..."

She wasn't sure what that meant. But she did know that that one SS must be showing Ludwig where they should be going.

For a fleeting moment Ludwig made eye contact with her first, then Feliks. He raised his chin just a fraction of a degree and tilted his head to the SS walking next to him. He was motioning for them to follow. She alerted Feliks and stood up too, careful to avoid looking at Ludwig or to appear that she had any reason to be hasty. And she was also sure, those two blacksuits were still staring daggers at her.


	44. Chapter 44

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Elizabeta and Feliks followed Ludwig and his guide, glancing over her shoulder. She did not see the two SS that had been watching them at their corner anymore or anywhere else on the street anymore. She was not sure if this was a good thing, or a terrible one.

The SS motioned with his hands, as if giving directions while Ludwig nodded. He and the SS exchanged a few more words, saluted each other, and parted ways. A few moments after Ludwig's hand fell to his side he motioned for them to follow him.

She unhappily slid up to his side. "What's the news?"

"We are going to the docks to find some people who can help find Gilbert. Supposedly they have an excellent tracking hound and are experienced in this sort of thing. It is not going to cheap though." Ludwig responded.

"We're flat broke. We'll have to negotiate some other way." Elizabeta sighed. Perhaps Ludwig's gun would accidentally be going off a few times into the wall.

The German shook his head. "You could not honestly believe that I let you three have all of what was left of our money yesterday, did you? I saved a small amount in reserve."

"What?" Feliks huffed. "You thought this far ahead? How?"

Ludwig's answer was accompanied by a simple lowering of his broad shoulders. "I did not want Gilbert to spend it on cigarettes."

They walked along the streets until they reached the Danube river.

Feliks laughed at something, and whispered in her ear. "All this talk of money and prudency. You know what Mr. Nazi is startingta sound like to me?"

She released a tiny little sound without opening her mouth, which went slightly up in pitch at the end. Eventually Ludwig led them to a wood-paneled building with the open river in the back. A short dock extended out into the flat dark waves as the sun set. An imposing, authentic-looking battle ax was mounted and hung over the doorway below the words _"The Halberd_." She assumed it was the name of the shop, as she had also seen the word painted along the side of the large fishing trawler that bobbed in the water. The ax's shape seemed oddly familiar to her.

Ludwig adjusted his pistol on his belt. He raised his chin and opened the door. A bell chimed to announce their arrival.

The interior of the place had a musty and masculine look to it, with the unstained salt-worn wooden boards and the fishing nets hung all over the walls. The second thing she noticed was the smell of the place, which assaulted her nostrils as thoroughly as a wall of panzers.

"Seriously, did someone like, _die_ in here?" Feliks squealed, gripping his nose.

"It reeks like dead fish!" she groaned.

"Y'don't like th'smell 'f f'sh?" a flat voice asked from somewhere in front of her.

"Not if it's been dead for a week." she replied, looking up at the voice that had spoken. Sitting behind a counter was a large man in a blue overcoat and a matching squarish hat. He had been fixing a fishing lure of some sort when he glanced up at the visitors.

Ludwig stepped forward towards the man. "Good evening. I was told I could come here for assistance in finding some-"

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" Ludwig questioned.

"We don't 'preciate _yer_ kind here, SS."

Ludwig seemed shocked for a moment. His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice dangerously. "We _have_ money. It works just as well as anybody else's."

"Don't care."

Ludwig stalked swiftly forward and slammed the money down on the counter.

The fisherman pretended to look down at the currency for a disgraceful millisecond that displayed his answer no matter what amount would have been placed there. "'t's just a bit short. S'rry."

Ludwig looked to his left to her and Feliks, then back to the fisher. "We need to find someone. Take the clothes on their backs in addition then."

Elizabeta felt her cheeks heat up. "Add in the German's _skin_ as well!"

"Get out 'f my sh'p. Now."

The man -whose accent she recognized as Swedish- stood up from his work to meet Ludwig's gaze. A frigid staredown ensued. It was as if the two men were having an Aryan showdown for who could be bigger, whiter, and have bluer eyes and blonder hair. And she hated to think it -no actually it felt pretty good- but the Swede stood a betting chance. The air crackled in a battle of wills. She felt Feliks step defensively in front of her.

A much smaller blonde boy skipped noisily out from a back room attracted by the commotion. He wore a lighter blue suit and white beret. His girlish hands were stained red with fish blood. He leaned gracefully up on his tip toes to speak to the Swede. "Aww, _Ber_ , don't be so mean," he said lovingly. His shiny lavender eyes flashed mischievously to Ludwig's hand. _"They have money."_

The larger male glanced down at him crossly and grunted. He picked up what he was working on and strode to leave the room. "Fine. You deal w'th 'm, T'no."

"Good! You three. My name is Tino. My last name's not important." the boy said, smiling slyly. He looked at Ludwig and performed a modest bow, his violet eyes glittering.

" _My_ , and what an honor it is to help _you_ , Scharführer. I do hope all is well at the front. You said you needed to track down someone? Would this be government business or pleasure?"

"Yes." Ludwig said, cutting the pleasantries. "Someone is gone. My brother."

"He is not gone. Even if he were dead we could find a body, right?" Tino said with an unnerving cheeriness, clacking his booted heels together and beaming. He whistled loudly, and in the distance Elizabeta could hear yipping and a dog tag jingling. The yip was a bit higher pitched than she expected.

"Everyone, meet Hanatamago." he said as a little fluffy white Maltese dog jumped up on him. She started licking the blood off of his hands, and he shook her head gently between the heels of his hands as he murmured sweetly to her in a language she did not understand. But was actually more familiar and Uralic to her than almost any other language she had heard than her own. Hanatamago barked happily.

" _That_ can help us find Gilbert? I expected a St. Bernard or a bloodhound. Not a celebrity's lap adornment." Ludwig noted, staring down at the little white puff. Elizabeta was harboring her own similar suspicions.

"Hey now!" Tino exclaimed. The dog yipped in protest. He turned to her. "Oh no Hana. He didn't mean that. You're a good girl."

Tino faced Ludwig again. "I tell ya, if this dog could speak she could rattle off the last ten things all of you have eaten and the last person you've each had sex with. All we need is a scent sample to find your friend."

"I…. We do not have one. Unless any residual scent on us counts." Ludwig said. "There has to be some other way."

Tino threw his hands up in the air. "Well then my friend you're in a big room with all of the salmiakki you could eat without a glass of water! She's a dog, not a falcon. She can't see or hear him out. We need something to smell like him."

"Well, your own _best interests_ in mind, you better find out another way." Ludwig grated. His hand raised to his hip in quiet threat.

Elizabeta peeled off a black leather glove between her thumb and index finger and smirked haughtily at Ludwig. A sardonic sort of _aren't-you-glad-you-didn't-shoot-me_ smirk. She handed the sample victoriously to Tino.

Ludwig frowned. "Where did you get those gloves?"

"Gil gave them to me." she answered simply.

Tino lowered the leather glove to the Maltese. The dog drank in the scent and closed her eyes. She looked at Elizabeta first, but seemed to realize that she was not the scent whom they were hunting, pointed her tail and started trotting outside. Tino grabbed her collar. "Whoa, not yet Hana. In a few minutes." He looked back over to them. "She's got it. Scharführer, why don't you come follow me and I can have you and Lukas talk money."

Silently, Ludwig followed after Tino. Feliks skipped after them. She brought up the back as they moved through the maze-like back hallways of the shop.

Her collar was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled roughly away. She had time to offer a muffled yelp for Feliks before a cold hand slid over her mouth. Something spun her around, yanked her inside, and a door clicked closed. She felt herself being pinned up against a wall by something taller and stronger than her. A thick forearm pressed against her jugular, killing her scream in her throat.

She was in a new room. Nets, maps, and fishing tools lay strewn across the walls along with a large amount of dust. The scent of musk and mold was heavy in the air, and it was dark except for a small, dim kerosene lamp. Fire blue eyes flashed furiously back at hers, lit ever more intensely by the contrasting orange of the lamp.

"Do you have any -ANY- idea what you have just done?!" a familiar voice berated her harshly.

She shook her head desperately, unable to speak, pushing futily back with her hands against the arm that mashed her neck.

The crushing weight across her trachea receded.

"M-mathias." she panted.

" _Gud_ , I know I was drunk when I met you, but we do not -and I mean absolutely _not_ \- appreciate SS here!" he said. As he talked the light hit him differently, and she could just make out the small black cap nestled in the wild wheat-colored hair.

"Ludwig's not going to do any harm! We just need some help." she pleaded.

"I don't care. I don't even care what you're doing with him. I want you to persuade him to get out of here. Right now. Aight? Otherwise I'm going to show you _exactly_ how we take care of business here." Mathias's ice blue eyes flickered to some huge metal fishing gaffs, spears, and axes on the wall. Even the smallest gaff was wickedly hooked and as tall as she was. A deceitful shine of happy yellow light caught her eye as it spun off the wickedly sharp metal hook.

 _"And I will warn you,_ with that I could do to you what the Faroese do to whales."

"We-we need to work something out. One of my friends is in trouble." she stammered.

"Trust me, you're endangering a lot more people than just one by having _him_ in here. And I'm not talking just about me you and those other guys you saw. If you're a decent human being you'll take him out of here. Do _not_ make me persuade you."

"It's Gilbert." she said, her voice getting slightly desperate. "You remember him, right? You were friendly with him? He liked your beer. He just disappeared."

"He was an SS too. I was drunk- I'm glad another one of the monsters is dead." the Dane hissed.

Elizabeta shook her head. "He's not an SS, just wearing their uniform. He's a defector. He's a good man, I promise you."

Blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Why should I believe you?"

Elizabeta hesitated. She was not sure if she could trust him, but she didn't have a preferable choice if she was going to accomplish her goal. She yanked up her sleeve to display her forearm in the dull orange light. She heard Mathias gasp.

"You're a Jew! _Min Gud!_ I ain't ever seen that tattoo for real before. Just heard the rumors..."

"We're not up to anything to hurt your business, I swear it. We just want to find Gilbert."

"What happened to him?" Mathias asked.

"We don't know, he's gone. But now you've got me curious as to what _you're_ really doing here."

Mathis laughed in a harsh, but relievedly friendly way. "Aww come now girlie, you haven't figured it out yet? A little place on the river? Smell so much like dead fishes, almost like it had to be on purpose? A bunch of big scary Aryan-lookin men runnin the place? With our own pup, of course. Place Seems smaller on the inside than it do on the outside, yeah?"

"I don't follow..."

"Aye, okay. Well I think you figured out my country of origin, ja?"

"You're Danish, right?"

"Yes ma'am you bet your arse I am! Now, what makes the Kingdom of Denmark different from every single other country involved in this war?"

"I... That's such a _broad question-"_

"Denmark is the only country to have evacuated almost all of her Jews before the Nazis got there. Off to Sweden. Do you know how we did that?" he asked.

"They smuggled them across in boats."

"Correct!" Mathias crowed. "As you remember the Nazis marched into Denmark spring of 1940. But see, in Denmark we are very close with our Jews, most of them in Copenhagen. Our Jews didn't have their own little streets and towns like in Germany and Poland. We all worked together to get them across the sea."

"Sounds familiar." Elizabeta noted, remembering something she had heard back home on the free radio about Danish occupation.

Mathias flared his fingers and gestured grandly towards his chest. "And which incredibly handsome fellow in this very room just might have had gained a little experience in doing that with his pals, ah?"

 _"You're smuggling Jews out of here!"_ she gasped.

"Bingo!"

"Why are you here? So far from home?"

"Well..." Mathias said, clicking his tongue as his eyes flitted up to the wall, to somewhere far away. "Things were pretty good in Denmark up until '43. The Nazis liked us. Liked how we looked. We didn't like the Germans anyway, most of us. We were what I would call 'unwillingly compliant.' But the Nazis tried to use us as a model. Treat us nice so maybe some of the other countries would want to ally or surrender. Our Royal guard fought some the first days but see, since Denmark is small and is as flat as a ship hardtack we would have just gotten overrun by Panzers if we declared war.. But when things started to get bad for the Nazis after Stalingrad the Danish resistance got braver and started stepping up. The Germans tightened their grip on us, and pretty soon we were under martial law. That's _If-you-spray-paint-another-Nazi-slur-on-a-store-we 'll-shoot-you-and-your-family_ law. And..." Mathias waved his hand explainedly. "Maybe I was in such a resistance and got into a _teensy_ bit of trouble and had to leave town with some pals for a bit."

"Why here?"

"Oh! That's easy! Vienna used to have the second largest Jewish population in Europe next to Berlin. I could keep doing what I liked to do in Denmark, but far away. Help some people, have some fun, make some money, you know?"

Mathias took out the charm of a small crude silver necklace under his shirt. It was in the shape of a battle ax. She realized that the Swede and even Tino had matching ones. "Not too many Jews around nowadays, but every week a gypsy or some homo who found himself late to the game or a minor politician who caused just a little too much trouble will find his way to our doorstep. With an appropriate offering, of course."

"What exactly is this offering?" she wondered.

"Whatever money they've got. Usually it's higher for political folk than nobodies, few thousand marks give'r take. We've gotta make a living too, you know." Mathias laughed.

"Well, I'm glad our money is going to a good cause. But I'm sorry Gilbert's brother bears the mark of the enemy a bit more seriously."

"That other SS is his _brother!?"_ the Dane balked. "They look nothing alike! It's Hitler's angel and some alcoholic school drop-out vampire! What, did his mom sex the mailman or something?"

Eliza just shrugged coquettishly. "Hey, who knows?"

"Hey. By the way, wanna buy some fish?"

"Um, no thanks."

"You sure?" Mathias asked.

"It's okay. Really."

He winked at her. "All right, all right. Yeah. Now why don't you go meet up with your friends and pretend to have been lost and get the heck outta here before krautface over there discovers something he don't want to."

Elizabeta opened the door a crack to peer out. She didn't see anyone who was in that part of the shop before. Except for that Berwald guy, who was looking angry and fixing something of some sort at his desk. She would rather not ask him for assistance.

"You have any idea where they'd be?" she put in.

Matthias nodded. "Mmyyeah. Follow my lead. Sorry if I'm a bit rough, girlie."

 _Why would he be rou-?_ "Oof!"

So much for subtlety. Mathias had yanked her out of the storage closet. He glared at disapproving Berwald as they passed as if to say 'no, we weren't doing _that.'_ He ushered her to a room at the end of a hallway and threw open the door.

"Hey! Tino! _This_ belong to you?" Mathias called.

The boy's violet eyes widened comically. "Yeah! Where'd she wander off to? I thought she went with the Nazi!"

"She got lost! Keep better track of your customers next time!" Mathias reprimanded.

Mathias leaned down to her ear. "Sorry. You needed an alibi. Lukas wouldn't like it one bit if he foundya snoopin round."

She nodded her thanks. Mathias lifted his hand behind him in farewell behind him as he walked away.

"Anyway," Tino sang, turning to her. "Feliks and I were figuring some stuff out. We're thinking that wherever your friend is held, it's gotta be in a building of some sort. So you would need a distraction if you had to break in and get him."

"Lizzie and I can start singing and dancing?" Feliks supplied hopefully, leaning back on a wall of the room.

"We can throw a brick through a window?" she added more seriously.

"You'll need something better than that, Miss Elizabeta. It could be a military base for all we know. Come, please. This part is my specialty."

Tino led them to a huge wooden chest in a back room and closed the door behind him. Along the wall of the room were rolls of thin cloth and spools of thick string. A pair of industrial scissors hung on a hook. Canisters of liquid lay against the walls. The large chest's yellowy wood was salty and worn, with black wrought-iron rivets. It looked like it belonged on a Viking longboat rather than in the storage of some dingy twentieth century back room. Tino opened it with a key. She thought her eyes were deceiving her when he slowly pulled open the heavy lid and she saw light reflecting out, as if the faint kerosene lamps were reflecting off of golden treasure.

But inside the chest -for some reason she did not understand- was a myriad of neatly arranged empty glass bottles. Big two liter ones. Mostly either brown green or clear.

She wondered how they obtained such a wealth of empty liquor bottles. She looked at Tino with a raised brown eyebrow.

"….Mathias?"

He nodded once. "Mathias."

For some other reason above her comprehension, or perhaps it was all of the shiny colors, Feliks was going insane with excitement.

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! It's just like back home! Except like _,_ there we drink them first. Can I pick one?"

Tino shrugged. "Sure! They'll all work about the same."

"Ohohoho!" Feliks sang, his eyes lighting up like a mischievous child's. He dug noisily around for a few minutes. His rump was sticking out in the air as Tino watched him happily. Eventually Feliks pulled out a big clear bottle that was likely once filled with Polish vodka, judging by the extroverted writing on the front with all of the W's and Z's. The bottle was rectangular, but with a lengthy cylindrical lipped neck. Feliks held it triumphantly up for her inspection.

"It's perfect! Beautiful, isn't it Lizzie? Look, it even has a little Phoenix blown on the glass!" He tapped a little square emblem on the front. "Poetic for the situation, isn't it? A firebird?"

"Sure?" Poetic for what situation, she did not know.

"I even found one for you too! If you want one, I mean. It's not Hungarian Palinka, but it's a really pretty sea green color! Like your eyes!" Feliks pulled another bottle out and held it up to her.

"We might just want to do one. No need to get too dangerous." Tino advised from behind them.

"Ah well. Wouldn't want to hurt anyone now would we?" Feliks seemed disappointed, and carefully stowed her green bottle back with its neighbors in the wooden chest.

She looked at him as he stood up from his crouch. "Feliks… when is your birthday?"

"In November. Whydya ask?"

"If I got you an empty glass bottle as a birthday present, would you be happy?"

"Absolutely not!" Feliks blurted, eyes wide with horror. "You would have to get me much more than that! At least if you wanted me to bake you some of my delicious _Krakowski piernik_ for _your_ birthday!"

"Then why are you so excited?"

He looked at her dubiously, lowering the bottle in his hand. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I have no idea what any of you are talking about! The bottles don't even have any alcohol in them. I don't understand what is so significant here!" she exclaimed.

"Tut tut! Naughty Elizabeta! What sort of rebel are you?" Feliks scolded.

"I... I was a fine rebel!" she asserted. "I worked with the Hungarian resistance. Alongside the Jews in Budapest too. I spread around newspapers, wrote articles, delivered messages, harbored people who needed help. Sometimes I would be disguised as a nurse and slip phenol into some Nazi's syringe at a hospital-"

"Ah, lady work. I'm sure you had your own legion of noble young Slavic men with nothin to lose like me."

"That still doesn't explain a thing."

"A toast!" Feliks jeered. He thrust the bottle high into the air. He grabbed her hand in his and raised it to the sky. "To the third Reich!"

Even less was explained! Her whole arm felt filthy, hanging high in this toast to what was so detestable. She yanked her arm down and glared at Feliks. He repeated something in rapid Polish, grinning at her. She cocked her head.

"With our favorite cocktail." he translated.

When Feliks and Tino started unscrewing the cap of the gasoline canister along the wall, she then understood what he meant.

* * *

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Green eyes stared back at him, flecked with little shades of gold and brown. Dark blonde brows lowered skeptically.

I-I.. _What?_ " Zwingli stuttered. "What do you mean, I wouldn't have to go to Switzerland alone?"

"I've got myself a pair of eyes. They may be red but I'm pretty sure they see the same colors you do. I've also got three friends that ain't blind either. And we might have just been looking for the means to get to neutral territory for some time now." Gilbert purred, drumming his fingers against the armrests of the chair.

"You want to get to Switzerland? What could you possibly want there?"

Gilbert just smiled. "Not many Nazis or allies, right? That's fine for me and my friends."

"And _why,_ " Zwingli hissed. "Would you want to get away from them so bad?"

"Well it's quite obvious why an ally would want to slit my throat." Gilbert answered. "As for the Nazis, since you're about as much of a deader as I am, I guess I'll tell you what you've already figured out. I've done some naughty things."

"Such _as_?"

"Ran away from a concentration camp in Poland with a female prisoner. Caused more of a scene than I would have liked. Almost got executed. Dragged my brother and some lucky Polish whelp into it along with the woman. Ended up here."

"What?! You were a guard at a concientrachion caemp uend you koueldn't juest dreiv aevay aus...!" Zwingli's speech degenerated into Swiss German, and Gilbert could scarcely understand the last word of each sentence having been raised so far north and east. The captain was yelling though. Gilbert's imagination supplied him with little drawings of all of the extra little umlauts and ch's spouting out of Zwingli's mouth. Gilbert groaned vociferously and shook his head as the Swiss got down and screamed with his cheese-breath in his face.

"Just because I cracked your nationality doesn't mean you can start speaking Swiss 'German' now! I can't understand a single dang word you're saying! Good God, you're almost as bad as the Dutch! Go back to talking in your nice fake Hanover German-German accent. Or if you had an East Prussian one that'd work great too!" Gilbert shouted.

Zwingli leaned back on his rifle and laughed. He got louder, covering his mouth with his free hand. "I knew I was right not to shoot you! You're filthy and without a swastika on your arm. Why the hell do you think I bothered to knock you out? Oh, this is just too grand. I ran into a little Desert Fox!"

"To torture me and turn me in, duh." Gilbert returned, smiling. "But I'm still wondering why you're so curious about a Master Roderich Edelstein."

"We had some business together. But that shouldn't matter to you. Since you are the one in the chair, _you_ will tell me what your business with him is." Zwingli ordered.

"He was a coworker with me. We didn't get along. Got fired right after we made our grand escape. He's got a house here."

Zwingli nodded in understanding to himself, and muttered something Switzy Gilbert didn't quite catch.

"Let's talk business shall we? Switzerland? You interested in a few watchdogs or what?" Gil said, pricking up.

"Who've you got?" Zwingli breathed, crossing his arms and lifting his chin, studying Gilbert through his blonde lashes.

"Two males, me and my brother. Highly trained in weaponry, hand-to-hand, tactics, and survival. A Hungarian female and a Polish male. Between us four we know standard German, Hungarian, Polish, English, and French. All young and able-bodied."

"A...A Pole? From Poland?" the Swiss asked.

"No. He's from fucking _Unicornland_." Gilbert drolled, with an appropriate eye-roll.

"I need an answer, Beilschmidt!" the Captain snapped.

"He's the real deal. Got something against the Poles, Captain?"

"No." the captain said. "It's just that..."

"What?" Gilbert asked.

"We interned thousands of Free Polish French troops back in '40. Poland was taken over already but the people still wanted to fight, so France incorporated the troops that survived into their own army. There's a lot of Polish men in Switzerland."

"He speaks German and Polish too! He could be useful if we want to blend in!" the Prussian exclaimed.

"Exactly, Beilschmidt."

"It's Gil."

"Hm?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. That's my name. You got a name, Cap'n?"

"Vash. Vash Zwingli."

"So, Vash?" Gilbert pressed. "What do you say? Yes? You'll guide us there?"

"I'll think about it. And that is still Captain Zwingli to you. Give me tonight."

"Sure, sure! Now how's about untying me?"

Vash laughed as if he had heard a joke.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Oh sure. Let some _thieving stranger_ who I met just this morning who has already proven himself neigh incapable of telling the truth wander around my home with my sister. He won't touch anyone or anything, I'm sure. Maybe I can even invite him to eat supper at the table with us!

"Aw, come on now. I'll be a good Gilbert."

"No. You'll be staying right there in the chair."

"I have to use the bathroom." Gilbert lied.

"Go right ahead. We're all men here."

Gilbert grimaced. That little ploy did not result in the subsequent untying he was hoping for.

He tried the last, most humiliating trick in his arsenal.

"How about a _'Please?'"_

"What?" Zwingli scoffed. "I find the last surviving East Prussian male between the ages of fourteen and fifty-five and he thinks he deserves special treatment?"

Gilbert huffed air angrily out from his nostrils. He knew things weren't looking so great in Prussia from the Russians right now. It was one thing to insult him. It was another to make fun of all of his old neighbors Gilbert would not be seeing upon his return home.

More importantly; Gilbert realized then that if the captain decided that his answer to the proposition was no, to protect himself and his sister and keep his mouth shut on the Switzerland thing, Vash would likely add his own contribution to the list of dead East-Prussians.

* * *

"I think you would look very handsome with it, mister. You could match me."

"Sorry Lili. That's where I draw the line. I already let you comb my hair, but no pink ribbons."

"Please? Let's just put it in, I can bring a mirror down and we can see how it looks."

Gilbert was as he was before. Tied to a chair about twenty minutes after Vash had left him. Only this time he had more company. Lili sat in a chair she had lugged from upstairs across from him, sipping imaginary tea from an empty white teacup. There were others too; on his left was _Herr Bär_ and on his right _Frau Kaninchen_. The two button-eyed faded stuffed animals had their own chairs and teacups too. Each was carefully dressed up in little hats and bits of clothes the girl had sewn at some point. Gilbert's teacup was sitting daintily on the floor next to his muddy right boot.

"Something tells me you don't have that many friends..." Gilbert sighed.

"Vash doesn't like most of my friends. But since you're here you can be my friend. Did you have lots of friends as a kid?" she asked.

"Sure. Although most of them realized I was bad news after a while. My brother though, phew! Me and the poor kid would get in so much trouble. We would run around the neighborhood playing soldier and stealing pies from windowsills and sneaking into the next farm over to tip their pigs over. Granted, they were all my ideas but Lud still enjoyed the loot. Until he figured out that was bad at ten or so and wanted to do his own things. Times started changing for us both then."

Lili looked to her right. "Mister Gilbert, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Herr Bär says he wants you to tell him more about when you were young."

Gilbert closed his eyes and smirked, well aware of who was really curious. " _Well, Herr Bär_ , one time when I was fourteen and Ludwig was about nine I - _we_ \- decided we had a bone to pick with the man who owned the local tavern. So we snuck out at night and crept over with these glass bottles I filled with goat piss and-"

"I don't think this story has a happy ending, does it."

"It doesn't. My father made me spend the night in the shed as punishment." he replied candidly.

"Can you tell me a different story? One with a happy ending?" Lili asked.

"Sure! What do you wanna hear?"

"Something where the good guys are okay and the bad guys get in trouble."

"Okay. One time, there were these two brothers. One day they got lost in the woods and captured by a witch. They liked her. Then they realized that she was evil! Then they ganged up on the witch and killed her! And then they both lived happily ever after and there was no fighting."

Lili placed her teacup on her coaster.

"Sorry." He had tried. It sounded like a good enough story to him. He just couldn't quite imagine the details.

"Can I ask you something?" Lili said.

"Sure kiddo, knock yourself out."

"What's it like being a soldier? How many people have you killed? If you're fighting out in the wilderness, when do you brush your teeth? Where do you use the bathroom? How do you change your underwear?"

"Curious!" Gilbert crooned softly. "Well, you brushed your teeth whenever you felt like it if you had a toothbrush. If you were in a foxhole and couldn't slip out without being shot you went in your helmet and dumped it over. And for the underwear well, see, that's part of what's really great about being a guy! You can wear your underwear frontways, backwards, and then you can turn it inside out and wear _that_ front and back, so really it's like you get four pairs in one!" he said cheerily.

Lili's soft features contorted into a mask of disbelief and confusion, similar to how a child likely looked when told that Santa Claus wasn't real. A sort of disappointment with how the real world was. A strange talon of guilt poked between Gilbert's ribs and prodded his heart testingly. Something of distorting the innocence of a child that he hadn't noticed before. Certainly not with all of the times he had corrupted Ludwig as a child then himself.

He would have reached out to touch her if he could. Maybe brush some of that yellow hair out from her eyes. "Hey now, I'm sorry Lili. I didn't mean it like that."

She sniffled a bit. "Soldiering really isn't that nice, huh. Vash said it's not a nice thing to get into if you don't have to…"

"It's exciting at first, and you tend to romanticize it -especially with this war- but eventually you just figure out that fighting in a modern war is terrifying. Either that or you turn insane like the SS. I know people who can't even watch fireworks because they sound too much like war. Your brother was right." Gilbert said.

Lil nodded. She slowly picked up her teacup and sipped at some invisible tea.

Gilbert heard a crash of glass shattering on the floor upstairs.

"Hey. Is Vash a clutz, or have you got a neighborhood kid who likes to throw balls in your window?" he asked, looking fruitlessly above.

"No." Lili whispered, looking up with wide alert eyes like a fawn would. "Vash scared most of the neighborhood kids away already."

"Better go check it out." Gilbert advised. Lili nodded and headed upstairs.

Alone again, Gilbert breathed in deeply and lugubriously. It was then that he noticed how nice the air smelled. Smokey and warm. Like a bonfire. It reminded him of a cigarette. He breathed it in deeply. It had been far too long since he'd had himself a good smoke.

Oh God.

The crash.

The house.

It was on fire.

Someone had just hurled a petrol bomb through that window.

"Hey you Switzers! I'm still down here, dammit!" he screamed at the stairs. But no answer came.

That was when Gilbert started to hear the fanning of the flames. The roar of displaced wind. The moan of dry wood. Gunshots rang out and male voices were yelling upstairs. Above that frequency, high and scared, was the crying of a young girl. Lili. _Lili_ was up there, and those bastards were _shooting._

He had to get out of there. If not for himself, he had to help the girl.

He strained against the binds, not having to worry about making his marginal progress unnoticeable to Vash anymore. He felt the strong white ropes tear into the slightly pinker flesh, quickly staining with blood again. But the tightly woven fibers did not fray.

He paused to catch his breath. Lili's stuffed animals were staring at him. Happy and pastel against the foreboding orange glow of the creeping fire.

"Frau Kaninchen, if you don't wipe that absurd grin off your muzzle this instant, I will burn you." he warned the doll.

Frau Kaninchen did not answer.

He reached down to bite at one of the binds but got nowhere close. He was not nearly so flexible. He was a soldier- not a gymnast. His masculine anatomy had long since devoted all available real estate to hard muscle rather than the limberness of ligaments. The drill sergeants back at basic training had made thorough work of that. He tried one last time, but it was still ten centimeters away. Then there was a moan and pop of wooden structural beams from above. The power to the light cut and he was left in the dark.

He lashed out a string of vivid curses that would make a sailor blush. It would be more plausible just to chew off his arm. But at least since it was dark he would not have to deal with the stupid happy looks on the faces of Lili's stuffed animals in their tea party gear watching him writhe.

"Gilbert!"

Who was that? "Hey! I'm down here! Took you long enough!"

Someone started clunking down the stairs. The black silhouette held a cloth to their mouth with one hand, and in the other hand he noticed the warm gleam of the triangular blade of his dagger. Hot orange light spilled out from behind them. Embers clouded in the sky like fireflies, thin dark legs eclipsing the light. Long and waiflike copper curls streamed out like leaves in the autumn wind behind the form.

"Eliza..." he found himself breathe.

She lunged forward into the darkness towards him. She quickly felt out the chair and his wrists. She slashed away at the binds of the rope on his left wrist and started cutting the ropes by his feet. With his free hand he undid his other wrist. He stood up from the chair, his vision swooned as felt the blood rush to his legs from sitting so long.

Elizabeta's eyes were red as she took him in and helped him up. He wondered if it was the smoke. "Gilbert, I'm so glad you're okay."

"Wearing your hair like that is a fire hazard, you know." he said disapprovingly.

Elizabeta opened her mouth and glared at him. Gilbert shut her up with a kiss. But he plucked her away, firmly grabbed her hand and swiftly started steering her up the stairs before she could react. He snatched up that stupid stuffed rodent in his right hand and pulled off his outer shirt to use as a shield against the smoke.

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

She nodded determinedly and ran with him up the stairs, fixing the cloth back over her nose and mouth. They thundered up the wooden steps and into the main level of the house. Elizabeta pointed in a direction and they ran towards it, skirting around a burning beam that had fallen. Gilbert noticed several silver candelabras in an adjacent room he was tempted to grab as he whizzed by, but since the house was on fire he put his imaginary blinders on.

They ran towards the back of the building, knowing that there would be more visibility from others in the front. The square windows on a pair of white French doors met his gaze as he brutishly shoved them open for himself and Elizabeta. The pair quickly alighted into the garden and yard in the back. When they were out of sight from the road and a safe distance away from the building they caught their breath inside the fence. Gilbert coughed a couple times.

"You...have got to stop smoking." Elizabeta berated him between her pants.

Gilbert took her close and hugged her. He carefully wiped the soot away from her tanned cheeks, clearing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"I was so worried Ludwig would hurt you. How did you even know where to look for me?" he asked. "I was trying to negotiate myself out."

Elizabeta filled him in about her wherabouts for the last several hours. About how Ludwig was mysteriously gone for a while, and his idea for going to the officers club. Then an SS there tipped them to some people who had a dog who could track people and how she used his gloves to find his scent. Apparently Ludwig also did something 'strange' with her before the club. When he asked her to elaborate further, she just blushed in a very un-Elizaish way and looked at the ground.

"Ludwig did all of that?"

"Yes..." she said. "Feliks and him are still inside. After we broke in we split up to search different floors of the house. They'll come out when they don't find you."

Gilbert nodded. He heard a little peeping sound behind him. They stepped towards it.

Lili was sitting alone in the grass in the garden. Her face was red and her eyes wet with worry. Gilbert was quietly relieved that she had not gotten hurt. Lili did not look up at him, but she heard him and Eliza approach.

"Vash is still inside. H-he said he would get his good rifle once he got me out. He said we would need it." Lili murmured, staring at her burning house.

"I got this for you. I'm sorry I couldn't save the bear."

Gilbert looked down at her and stiffly held out the stuffed pink rabbit in his fist. He held it by its ears, with a locked arm, as one would a kill.

Lili took the cloth rabbit gently in her little hands. She wrapped her arms around Gilbert's legs and held him close. He could tell she was crying, because even though she was quiet her back kept hitching.

"Gilly! Lizzie, you found him!" A jubilant voice broke. Feliks trotted over to the two from the direction of the house. Feliks handed Gilbert his pistol, hat, and lighter. "We found these on the table with your knife."

Ludwig stalked up to him next, ash streaked on his face, gun in hand. Sensing this was not the place to be, Lili stifled back a sob and wiped her tears on her sleeve as she released Gilbert's legs. She scurried away to kneel down in the grass and watched her house burn with wide eyes, absently stroking the rabbit's worn ears.

Ludwig flashed his teeth when he spoke. "What the hell happened to you! Are you stupid or something?"

"Aww _,_ thanks Lud. I missed you too."

Ludwig shoved him away. "That was foolish! Do you have any idea how far back you have put us? You are many things Gilbert, but now I have to add a blundering clumsy idiot to the list! How the _hell_ did you end up under citizen arrest?" the German questioned.

"I eh, tried to snoop around for some stuff and unfortunately picked the house of a low level ranking officer." Gilbert replied with a grin.

Vash stormed out of the house next, making a beeline for Lili. He had a rifle. He pointed the rifle at Ludwig for a moment, who in turn raised his pistol. Vash lowered the rifle barrel a few centimeters before his green irises slid to Gilbert.

"I don't suppose these are the three misfit minions you were talking about?" the Swiss bit out.

"Yessir they are! Best crew for the job." Gilbert sang. Despite his words, his tone betrayed not the barest hint of submission or gravity of the situation.

"Best bastards for committing arson, that's what."

"Oh don't get your lederhosen in a twist, Switzy. You wouldn't have needed your house much longer anyway. It's a fine excuse for your death."

Ludwig looked at Vash. After they had put their firearms away, Ludwig clacked his heels together and saluted.

Vash shook his head angrily and sliced his arms out from his side. "Good God, somebody fill this Nazi bonehead in! I was the man who was shooting at you!"

The absolutely confused dog look that slathered itself across Ludwig's face was almost enough to null the sting of the rope cuts on Gilbert's wrists. With all of the confusion, Ludwig did not know he had been laying siege to the house of an ex Heer captain.

Gilbert looked down at the captain and smirked. He crossed his arms and laughed, the flames glinting back in his red eyes. "It looks to me like you haven't got another choice but to move now. Yet the variable of you needing more people than two remains constant."

Zwingli looked at Gilbert and flashed his teeth. "Fine! I'll take your goddamn help!"

Vash lowered his voice to a whisper. "But I want you to know; that if there's trouble and I have to pick between me saving her and saving any of you, you're on your own. She is my first priority."

"Expect the same from us four, Vash." Gilbert responded darkly. His three friends first. Zwingli then crouched down and started softly comforting his sister in their estranged dialect of German.

"What is going on? What help? We are in no position to be helping strangers when we have enough trouble accomplishing our own goals." Ludwig said, staring between the two uniformed men.

Gilbert would have to go about replacing Ludwig's leadership subtly. He knew if he started making sudden decisions too unusually Ludwig would figure out his authority was being undermined. And then Gilbert would have not only the issue of escaping the city, but of having an even more openly fed up Ludwig to satiate. If that confrontation had to come, he would be smart enough to postpone it to a less crucial time.

Gilbert squared his shoulders as he looked at his brother. "What _I_ want to know is, how the hell did the house happen to catch fire the moment you broke in?"

"That would be _his_ doing." Ludwig growled, glancing distastefully at Feliks. The Pole just grinned widely in response.

"Molotov cocktails," Elizabeta explained. "Don't ask how he knows how to use one."

Gilbert felt his jaw drop as he gawked at the madly grinning teenager. Crazy, insane, Polack. Gil shook his head to clear it. He stepped forward, positioning himself as the center of a circle with Feliks, Elizabeta, Ludwig, Vash and Lili on the circumference. He clapped his hands together loudly.

"I say we've got ourselves two minutes to get the hell out of here before people start looting and the police show up. So I'm gonna make this quick-"

Vash paled. "What? _Looting_? Oh my God-"

But Gilbert cut the captain off. What was done was done. "Vash Zwingli here is Swiss. He knows the country and the language and he's going to help us get there. We are going to help watch his back and his sister Lili in return."

Feliks raised his hand. "Um, like, how are we actually going to _get_ there though?"

Gilbert looked to Vash. Vash looked back at Gilbert with less confidence than he was hoping. "You mean you didn't have that planned out?" Vash said.

"No! What do you think we're still doing stranded here? Touring St. Stephens Cathedral?" Gilbert snapped.

"Alright we could... steal a car and some gasoline and see how close we can get the border? Or hop a train?" the Swiss supplied.

"How are we all gonna fit in a car without getting stopped? Or the dough for train tickets? Heck- is there even a route from Austria to anywhere near the border anymore?" Gil asked.

Vash frowned. "The Nazis closed the border and the Allies blew most of the rail lines up last spring..."

"I've got an idea." Elizabeta said, her lips pursed with interest.

"What, Eliza?"

"We go by boat."

Gilbert snorted. "As much as I admire your creativity, we're soldiers not sailors. I don't know how to man a boat. What are we going to do, row it up the alps?"

"I know a little bit of boating..." Feliks mused. "But not enough to like, get us all the way there by myself if you guys are gonna be useless."

Gilbert shuddered at the thought of ship Captain Łukasiewicz, sauntering around the gangplanks on his tiptoes swishing some broom handle as a captain's sword and yelling at him in Polish to swab the deck

"Nonsense!" Elizabeta replied cheerily, stepping forward a bit. "I might just know of a man who would be willing to sneak us in. Although... we might need a bit of an _offering._ "

"Offering?" Ludwig posed.

"Money." she answered.

"Dibs on being the one not going back into the burning building to get cash." Gilbert said, raising his hand half in the air. Feliks quickly mimicked the gesture.

Vash looked over to his burning house. Flames and black smoke billowed out from the peaked ceiling. "No way we are getting in there now." He wrenched up his sleeve. "But I do have this."

A shining gold Rolex watch shone on his left wrist. It had all of the fancy mini-circles on its face too, with tiny sapphires and rubies in the mechanics. Gilbert could see the gears turning and ticking through little round windows in it. He was sure it was worth more than what he was paid in three months.

"It's as pure gold as it gets with a watch." Vash informed. "They have to thin it out with other alloys to make it hard enough. Sapphire and ruby crystals on the inside. Accurate to one-tenth of a second."

"Ooh." Those Swiss and their fancy timekeepers. Gilbert leaned over it curiously. "Liz, think this'll be enough?"

"They'll take what we've got, I'm sure."

"Gruby paws off, peasant! It won't be worth as much if you drool on it!" Zwingli retorted, yanking his arm away.

Distant police sirens began to reverberate through the air. He saw a few desperate men armed with crowbars and sacks come from the street disappear around the front of the house. He noticed then that someone was missing in the yard. There was himself, Elizabeta, Feliks, Ludwig, and Vash.

"Where's Lili?" Gilbert asked. She did not need to see this.

"I think she's um, _she needs time_." Vash said.

"She ain't here?"

"No. She went around to the side yard and-"

'The peasant' had stopped paying attention. The Prussian curled his fingers into a fist, lunged forward and punched Vash straight in the face.

The Swiss's mouth clamped shut mid sentence as Gilbert sent his angry little pimple of a head spinning on his shoulders. Eyes wide and angry, Vash righted his jaw. "Christ! What was that for!"

Gilbert wrung out his fist and cracked his knuckles. "For daring to shoot my nuts off."

_"...What?"_

He did not have to look at who said that last word to realize it was Elizabeta.

XXXX

Gilbert wasn't sure how, and he wasn't sure why; but after they left the burning Zwingli house behind Elizabeta brought himself, Feliks, Ludwig, Vash, and Lili, to this dilapidated smelly wooden fishing store on the marina. The whole place reeked of dead fish and booze and was so chaotically repaired it must have been held together with spit and prayers. There were taxidermied things mounted on the walls alongside medieval weapons, most of them nailed up at odd angles and clashing colors as if put together by a bunch of designers who didn't know each other, didn't like each other, and weren't quite 100% aware the others were there.

A big person in blue was sleeping at a work desk under an oil lamp. He lifted up his head at the sound of the bell chiming. "Yer back? ... 'Nd y'brought ev'n _more_ 'f the bast'rds. I'm gonna have a t'lk with Lukas 'nd Tino..."

He must have been very tired. Because he sounded funny.

"Is, um, Mathias around?" Elizabeta asked politely.

He blinked lazily at her. He pointed to a room down the hall. "'F' he ain't there, 's sleepin 'pstairs."

"Okay. Thank you." Elizabeta said. The man slumped his head back on his arms in answer and resumed sleeping.

Gilbert thought there was something kind of familiar about that name Mathias. Elizabeta came to a door down the dark hallway and knocked on it, quietly at first, and then louder.

"LUKAS! Would you damn knock it off! I'm comin, ain't I?" a muffled voice yelled. The handle on the door jiggled, and then whooshed angrily open. A tall blonde in a black trench coat stepped out. He looked down owlishly at Elizabeta, who about came up to his chin, and blinked. "Elizabeta? What's a lady like you doin here at this hour?"

The blond man peered behind her and groaned. "Ugh. _These_ fuckers again. And they bred."

Gilbert's eyes went wide with recognition as he stepped up to Elizabeta's right. "Hey! I know you! You're that drunken Dane from last night!"

"In the flesh, my dear Potato sucker!" the Dane said cheerfully. "How was the hangover, Gilbo? Not too bad, I hope?"

"'Course not." Gilbert returned jovially. "It was fine enough for me to go and get myself into trouble in the morning."

Mathias chuckled and turned on his heels to Elizabeta. He tone regained a business-like veneer. "Now m'dear, what are all of these people doing in our shop in the middle of the night?"

"I remembered what you said. We need help getting somewhere. We're willing to pay." Elizabeta responded.

Mathias lowered his voice. "Come in."

And in they went. Into a room that Gilbert instantly dubbed 'The Map Room.' There were a lot of maps. Some of Nordic countries. One was a close up of the city. A star chart. Others of wind and water currents, of weather patterns, all scattered across desks. Along a small chalkboard on the wall were messily written calculations involving wind resistance. The room was dark like most of the building, and lit only by two dim orange oil lamps.

"What are we talking?" Mathias said, searching around for an appropriate diagram. "You wanna get to Bratislava? The Mediterranean? Black Sea?"

"Switzerland." she said.

Mathias coughed. _"What?"_

"You heard me. Switzerland."

Mathias paced over to the wall and pulled down a yellowed map of central Europe. He slowly traced his finger west on the jagged dark blue line labeled _Donau_ that flowed through the plump drumstick named ÖSTERREICH.

"You wanna go west? Up the Danube?"

"Yes." Eliza confirmed.

"But, before you got to Switzerland, that would lead you into..." Mathias's finger ghosted along the ultramarine line. It hesitated when it hovered over a capital letter D that started the next country's name.

"Into Germany." Gilbert answered. "We know."


	45. Chapter 45

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

Mathias had turned around. He threw some things around the room and procured a hand bell. He raised it in the air and jerked it back and forth as loud as he could.

Everyone started looking around. Lili covered her ears. Zwingli gritted his teeth and banged his rifle on the ground at Mathias. "Damn it kid! Knock it off!"

Mathias kept ringing the bell. Gilbert's soldiers' instincts instantly noticed several pairs of men's footsteps running down the hall. A moment later, three people he had not seen before were in the room in various stages of dress, all looking very angry. A fourth of them was the tall blue Swede at the counter before.

A shorter man with a sharp blue glare and silverish hair sauntered up to Mathias and jabbed a finger at the Dane's chest. He spoke in a harsh Scandinavian tongue. He had a creepy flat voice. And if Gilbert's imagination was not playing tricks on him at this time of night or from lack of food, he also seemed to be wearing some sort of girl's gold hairpin. The weirdo platoon had arrived. Great.

Mathias stopped ringing the bell and grinned broadly. "Fellas, we've got some people who want to buy some fish!" the Dane announced to his crowd, his voice rolling at the end as if he were announcing news.

"Perhaps you misunderstand." Ludwig said forcedly. "We want out of the country. We are not interested in buying any of your rancid fish."

Mathias lifted his neck and chuckled. "Oh, Germans. You guys are a hoot. That's our code! 'buy some fish?' It means we're sneaking people out of here on the trawler!"

"The idiot thinks it's hilarious. He asks passing Nazis all of the time if they want to 'buy some fish.'" Hairpin said flatly, crossing his arms.

"Every once in a while they say yes. We sell them the bad ones." A younger boy with silvery hair spoke up. If Gilbert had to guess he was only sixteen.

"Y'gott't tell us now? You cuddn't wait til mornin'?" Big Blue said, narrowing his eyes at the shorter Mathias.

"Well..." Mathias said guiltily, smiling his wide salesman smile. "I called us five here to discuss. See, cause this is a bit 'f a special case."

Hairpin's gaze was cold, his voice flat as a glacier as it refused to go up at the end. "How so."

"They want to go _up_ the river. All the way to Switzerland. So I says we vote on it, t'see if it's safe." Mathias coughed once into his fist. He said something quickly in Danish, and his eyes flashed to Zwingli's wristwatch.

"I don't c're. Rath'r be in the water than 'n here." grumbled Big Blue.

"I say no." Hairpin declared.

"Mmmm...too risky." a tiny blond with Roderich's eyes agreed.

Mathias stepped forward to his little troupe. "If anyone can do it, we can do it. We're the best seamen in Europe. Descendants of the mighty Vikings themselves! I vote yes. And Emil's vote is my vote." Mathias announced, his rallying voice expanding to fill the small musty room.

"You're not the boss of me anymore, Mathias!" the teen protested, balling his fists.

"You'd vote yes anyway." the Dane said.

"So what's that? M'jority fer….?"

"Counting you as a yes, Berwald, the trip is in favor three to two. Aye mates?" the Dane prompted.

"Oh, dear friends." Vash sighed softly, gently caressing the stock of his rifle. "I fear the time in which you had a choice in the matter is long since passed."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow as he appraised the Captain. Gilbert wasn't sure if it was guarded approval, or if he was appraising a threat.

Mathias chuckled again, clasping his hands together. "Well get your bank accounts together and fake some deaths, folks. We're settin' sail up the Danube in two hours!"

XXXX

Gilbert noticed something bloodred billowing from the darkness at the top of the main mast.

"A personal touch?" Gilbert mused, gesturing with his chin towards the swastika flag clacking ominously against the crow's nest.

Mathias hooted as he stepped onto the gangplank that lead up to the white fishing trawler. The whole boat was about 25 meters long and had one sail mast in the middle, despite it having an engine. The Dane was carrying a barrel of freshwater. "Makes us less suspicious, less Nazis board us. Keeps the bribes down too. Don't worry though, me and the kid did some things to that flag before we put it up. Don't tell Tino or Lukas though, eh?"

Gilbert wondered briefly what sorts of sacrilege this included before Mathias grabbed him. "We don't waste time. Come on."

Gilbert reached down with his hand and pulled Elizabeta onto the white ship. Feliks hopped up the ramp after. Vash could be overhead telling the location of the border village he had in mind to the crew. The moon was almost full, and the rest of the city seemed asleep. Lamps were doused and curtains were drawn. Only stars danced on the black surface of the waves.

"Will they bomb tonight, you think?" Gilbert heard a Finnish voice ask from somewhere on the deck. "Could be hazardous, but serve a fine diversion, ye?"

"On a moon like this? I could shoot down a plane in under a minute in these conditions." Ludwig answered.

Mathias was leading him to where they had to hide on the ship when Gilbert almost stepped on something fat and dark and as big as a football.

"What's _that?"_

"Oh! That's Emil's puffin. He's like our mascot." Mathias explained.

The black white and orange waterfowl squawked in answer, peering stoutly up at Gilbert with beady black eyes. A red bowtie was looped around his throat. He waddled on the deck of the boat as if he owned it. The little white dog yipped a greeting too.

"I didn't know I'd be a passenger on Noah's ark."

"Yeah, me neither. I'm not used to dealing with German pigs." Mathias said, elbowing him.

"I'm just impressed that your ship isn't built from colorful little bricks, Dane." Gilbert countered, grinning.

"Someday Legos will be world famous, kraut."

" _That's_ what they're called?"

"Shut it. We're here." Mathias opened a little door in the wall on the deck. It seemed to be a storage space.

"Usually it's for our beer stash. Sometimes well..." Mathias scratched the back of his head and grinned. "Sometimes sugar, coffee, tobacco or drugs. Today's contraband is runaway Europeans with mysterious political backgrounds."

"What a great crew, Liz has thrown our lot in with. Drunken drug-smuggling pirates." Gilbert churred.

"Really: if you have to brand us with something brutish like that, I'd much prefer Vikings." Mathias said, undoing the bronze latch in the wall.

"Have it your way, Captain Knut."

"So what we're gonna do is stick you four in this little secret compartment over here. We have another on the port side for the two Swiss. Then we take a bunch of Wednesday's stinky fish and pile 'em up against the door on the outside. That way if the Germans board us with dogs, they can't find your scent."

"Do they board you often?" Gilbert asked.

"Happened a few times. Usually if we play dumb fishermen and get the Puffin to shit on em they'll leave." Mathias said with a shrug.

Gilbert showed Ludwig Elizabeta and Feliks to the little cargohold. There was not enough room to stand up, and there were no lights. Mathias gave them a bucket of fresh water, an empty bucket, and told them they better bit mix them up. He told them to shut up, and closed the door behind them. The only light trickeled through the cracks in the wood boards in the top deck. Then Gilbert heard Mathias yelling at the others to dump fish on top of the door.

Gilbert took off his hat and gloves. He looked at Elizabeta and smirked. She was squatting on the floor next to him. "So...better, or worse than the cattle cart?"

"Better." Elizabeta said, crossing her legs and leaning them on the opposite wall, as if the tiny wooden hold was a room on a cruise ship and smiling humorously. Gilbert laughed with her and mimicked her position.

"Guys we should like, sing some campfire songs or tell funny stories."

"Feliks, if you utter one word of that, know that I will garrote you with fishing line." Ludwig warned.

"What does garrote mean?" Feliks whispered.

"It means to strangle with a wire." Elizabeta explained.

"What kind of vocab words do they teach you kids in German class in Hungary, sheesh."

Gilbert sighed exaggeratedly. "That would really suck. We could be in here for a while. Feliks would start to stink. _And in a space this small..."_

"Oh well I'm glad if I _died_ my _smell_ would be your utmost concern." Feliks said upidly, crossing his arms indignantly.

Gilbert felt a peculiar sensation wash over him. One that he had not felt since before he met Elizabeta. He felt like he was home. Like an animal in his hole. On known territory. He felt his heart relax, but his brain urged vigilance. Like there was something dangerous lurking in that sanctuary. He felt his body tense.

"Do you feel that?" Ludwig said suddenly.

"Yes. I…" Gilbert started. He would have elaborated further, but he wasn't quite sure what he had felt.

"What?" Feliks asked. "You guys like, feel the ship lurch?"

"I think we must have crossed the border into Germany." Gilbert said.

"That's not something you can tangibly feel. I think we just went through a lock." Elizabeta responded.

"Well maybe if we were going down the river to your country, you'd feel something too." Gilbert posed. Elizabeta made a sound of thought, before letting her head rest back on his shoulder.

XXXX

Gilbert felt refreshing sea breeze and morning sunshine on his face. He woke up because some part of him knew this was exactly _not_ what he should have been feeling.

The door to their little hideaway was left ajar, swinging slightly. The hot, stale, smelly air of the storage compartment wafted away. Gilbert assumed Mathias intended for them to _stay_ in there, the way the dead fish carefully piled up at the door were now shoved aside. There was also one less person in the little compartment. Ludwig was gone.

_Congratulations, Ludwig. You've broken a rule._

But Ludwig was generous, at least. He left the door open for the rest of them.

Gilbert poked at sleeping Elizabeta. She moaned and turned back away.

"Wanna go out?" he whispered, shaking her gently.

She rolled over and did not open her eyes. "Nagyapó? Muszáj iskolába menni?"

Considering that evidence enough that she needed her rest, and not bothering with Feliks, Gilbert left the hold and stepped carefully out onto the ship deck. He did not see any sign of Ludwig, or any of the Scandinavians. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and it was quiet except for the sound of waves. The land on the banks was forested and uninhabited. He wandered the deck for a few minutes. At the top of the crow's nest sat Emil's puffin. It was watching him. Out from somewhere, the little white Maltese appeared too, following at his heels as he walked.

"You here to make sure I don't cause any trouble?" he asked the dog.

"Yip!"

"Stay if you want. I ain't got any bones for you."

"Yip!"

Gilbert found his way to the bridge, the windowed little room at the front of the boat which had the starcharts, compasses and the wheel. He opened the door and stepped inside. The pup poked her head in too.

"Oh, _good morning_ , there." Mathias drolled sarcastically from behind the captain's wheel. "I did not remember telling you it was safe to come out. We could have been passing through Munich, for all you knew."

Gilbert looked around at the hundreds of snowy pine trees that lined either uninhabited bank of the river. "We're not."

Mathias rolled his eyes. "Nice job, Sherlock." He pulled a pair of binoculars from a hook. He raised his voice. "Berwald, take the helm. Jeg kan se noget."

From a room behind, the Swede silently appeared and took the wheel in Mathias's place. Mathias started walking outside and beckoned for Gilbert to follow.

"What I wanna know is, what have you got to eat on this boat?" Gilbert said as they paced on deck, crossing his arms.

"Quail eggs cooked in hemp and fresh caviar." Mathias replied, marching forward in a businesslike manner.

"Really?" Gilbert asked, standing straight.

Mathias swung the binocs in his left hand as he walked towards the stern of his boat. The sun caught on the lens and flashed. "Nope." he replied flatly.

Gilbert's bottom lip cascaded into an open scowl.

"Mathias is so cheap, he'll chargeya extra for food." Hairpin Man said, swinging out from behind the mast and tying some ropes around it. Gilbert settled on the fact that his accent was Norwegian.

"I am not!" Mathias protested, offended. "Lukas, go get these folks here some hardtacks."

"Can't." the Norwegian said, busying himself tightening the ropes.

"Whynaut?" Mathias pressed, leaning on the mast.

"The puffin got into em last night. Tore up the bag and used the burlap to fix'ims a nest up on the crow."

"The bird destroyed everything? We haven't got any food?" Mathias echoed in disbelief.

"Lest you wanna get salmonella and eat the rotted fishes." Lukas replied, shrugging.

Mathias cursed in Danish and stamped the ship deck.

"That's fine." Gilbert parried with a loose smile. He looked up at the crow's nest. "I'll eat the penguin instead. He'll be good and fat. I'll even offer to catch him for you."

"Oy now! Mr. Puffin is _no_ penguin! And he is _definitely_ not on the menu!" a fourth voice protested. The sixteen-year-old was back, ducking onto the scene after putting some crates down.

Gilbert whirled on the kid. "I'm hungry, and my friends are thin. They've gotta eat _something_."

"Anyone who so much as lays a finger on Mr. Puffin will be thrown overboard with a brick tied to his ankles!" the Icelander huffed, leaning up on his toes.

The Prussian rolled his eyes at the boy's threat. But he heard a victorious squawk from above. The bird had pooped. It didn't hit his nice black –albeit a bit tattered- military uniform. But the warning was evident. Gilbert sent the bird a fiery glare that promised revenge.

"Alright alright. Simmer down, children." Mathias said. "We have more food somewhere probably."

"And what, is the meaning of all of this?" a low baritone rumbled from behind him, heels clacking together with military precision.

"Ludwig! Where the hell did you go?" Gilbert exclaimed.

"I wanted fresh water." Ludwig said simply, but coldly. "And something to eat, if possible."

"Splendid! Well now that our registered Nazi is on deck, I've got a question for you two." Mathias interrupted. He led the group of men over to the port railing of the boat to overlook the green-gray water.

"What in God's name is _that?"_ Mathias demanded, jabbing a finger at a black blur bobbing on the distant waves behind them.

"That, my friend _,_ " Gilbert started facetiously, "Is what in my language is called a 'boat.' I believe the Danish word sounds very similar, although knowing you people you've managed to put a j in there. Now, if that word is too difficult and you want another one, you could say 'ship'. Come now, let's pronounce them together. Ready? _Das 'Schiff,' und das 'Boo-_ "

Gilbert shut up after Mathias had punched him in the chest.

Lukas squinted at the boat shining on the waves about half a kilometer back. He adjusted the pin in his hair. "It's bad news, t'swhat she is."

"The binoculars. Give them to me." Ludwig ordered.

Mathias handed them over. Gilbert leaned over the railing for a closer look at the boat in the distance. The only thing he could discern was that it was flying the same flag that they were.

"Not a warship," Ludwig remarked. "There are no guns. Not Kriegsmarine either, since it is flying the political flag rather than the battleflag."

"A swastika is a swastika, no matter how you put it." Mathias stated.

"So what is it then?" Emil asked.

"For all we know, they could be flying a flag for the same reason we are. They are probably just on their way to Ulm." Ludwig continued, lowering the binoculars. "They have no reason to suspect us of anything."

"You sure?" Mathias said.

"I cannot be sure of anything. But we should let them pass us, if they get close enough."

Mathias handed the binoculars to Gilbert. The boat was slightly smaller than theirs, but did not seem to be a fishing vessel. It was metallic in color, almost black, and had no sails. Gilbert did not see anyone on the deck, nor could use their uniforms to figure out what the business of it was. " _For all we know_ ," Gilbert juxtaposed, "Joseph Goebbels could be on that boat. Put some nets down in a few hours if they're still behind us. Make it look like you're fishing. And if you catch something: do us all a favor and cook it."

Lukas darted over and said something quickly in Norwegian to Mathias's ear. Mathias's lips parted.

"Ah, Gil, remember how I said the spot that you're staying in is where we usually put our beer?" Mathias raised.

"Yes?"

"Well the spot where the Swiss are is usually where we put our fishing nets."

"You're kidding me. You don't have nets?"

"Use your head, eh? It's a smuggling mission, not a fishing trip. What are you gonna bring; an old fishing net, or a couple of Swiss with a quarter kilo of gold to give you?"

Gilbert shook his head. "I genuinely cannot believe how you five are not caught by now."

"It all works out in the end, friend!" Mathias cheered. "Organized chaos and a bitta' palm grease, we call it. But air time's over for you. There's a town comin up. Back in the holds, the both of you. At least the Switzers were _go_ od stowaways."

XXXX

It was night, and Gilbert was again being a bad stowaway. The Prussian pressed his back against the top of the hatch, carefully and quietly nudging it open enough for him to slip out.

The blurred moon blazed high and cold above the abandoned deck. The only sound was the lonesome clacking of the flag on the mast. Gilbert was careful to stay away from the bridge, in case whoever was piloting their ship would notice him. Fog had settled in icy and thickly, and Gilbert could not see anything more than ten meters away from the ship in any direction.

Silent and swift as a shadow, Gilbert stalked towards the starboard railing. Scrupulously fastened to it with duct-tape were two fishing rods, dragging their lines in the black waves as they leaned over the metal rail. Gilbert tested them to find them empty. Mathias's handiwork, no doubt. A laughable substitute to the ploy of them being actual fishermen. He would have laughed had he not had something much more sinister in nature in mind for tonight. The cloak of night was a reliable friend in hiding the sins of man.

Also dozing vulnerably on the rail was a medium sized, black and white bird.

It cried once before Gilbert had snatched it by its legs and forced its big triangular beak shut in his fist. His other hand found its way to the long tender, gooselike neck. He crushed the windpipe in his left hand, and no longer having to worry about it making a fuss, devoted his other to the task of strangulation as well. Thick black wings beat the air, orange legs kicked, strong and fast, until progressively becoming weaker. The cadmium and blue beak clacked soundlessly, eyes wide and mouth agape in a silent scream. The bird's heart beat frantically, Gil could feel it convulsing in every pulse that raced underneath his palms, desperate, frenzied for life. It didn't even know what life was and yet it fought anyway. Gilbert did not have pity. Heat and blood and life raced under his fingertips, and it was Gilbert who felt alive. Powerful.

He heard breathing behind him. Airy, feminine breathing.

"Go back to sleep Liz. I'll be there soon enough."

"Mr. Gilbert…"

That was no Elizabeta he knew.

Gilbert turned on his heels. The Swiss girl was staring at him. She did not say anything further. She just looked at him. That insipid, deer look. Her pink and red pinstriped dress fluttered slackly around her high white stockings. The foggy moon was behind her, bleaching each of her fair hairs ivory white, and he couldn't make out her face.

"I don't think that the pirates would like that. They might punish you when they find out." she said.

"My brother and I could take over this ship, if we wanted." Gilbert responded, holding the bird still tight in his gloves. It kicked once at the sound of new voice. The Nordics were not a danger. _He_ was the danger. _He_ was what they should be afraid of.

"Not with Vash. He has an assault rifle."

Gilbert's deathgrip faltered for a moment. Not out of fear. But from the fact that, whether she realized it or not, the young girl had actually spoken a threat.

"What are you doing out here." Gilbert said.

"I wanted some air. It's very hard for me to breathe, down in there. Vash is very cautious, he didn't want me to go out."

"You snuck out all by yourself?"

The girl nodded. She stared at him with scared green eyes.

"That's okay. I wanted some air too." Gilbert said. He felt his fingers uncurl from around the bird's neck.

"Please don't kill him."

"Fine." Gilbert said calmly. The girl's arrival had improved his mood. Either way the bird would not be bothering him again. He hadn't quite thought through how to cook it anyway. "I hereby bestow my pardon upon this…" he studied the ragged form of sweaty black feathers. "Penguin."

"Thanks, Mister Gilbert."

Gilbert set the bird down on the railing, where it collapsed unconscious. Lili took it, carefully retreating a step back to sit on a crate. She smoothed out her dress and placed the lump of ruffled black and white feathers on the soft silk of her lap. She carefully started stroking his back, preening the damaged feathers on his neck back into place and supporting his triangular head with her hand.

"He is very hurt. His neck isn't big and strong like yours is."

Gilbert leaned back on the crate too, overlooking the black water and the cold white eye in the sky. He wiped his dirty hands on the front of his black pants.

"Vash is very careful. But he would never have let me get away with sneaking out a week ago."

"He's probably stressed. We all change." Gilbert said.

"Vash changed a lot. He doesn't want to have to sneak anymore. He got braver. He says that it's better to die on your feet than to live on your knees."

Gilbert huffed out a laugh. It turned to mist in the air and blew away.

"I thought that was very noble of him." Lili said, her hand hesitating over the puffin.

"Good old Vash has got it all wrong. Why not live on your feet?" Gilbert emphasized his last word with a flick of his wrist.

"I hadn't thought about it that way."

"Here's a bit of advice: Don't limit your life to clever epigrams. Ain't always gotta be the glorious black-and-white, Lili."

She nodded blankly. "I'll make sure that Brother understands."

Lili carefully put the puffin down in the corner between some crates. She dusted the feathers on the ground that had come loose when it was struggling into a little nest, as if to keep it warm. The bird opened one colorful eyelid feebly, as if to thank her. She stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles her dress. Gilbert looked at her expectantly.

"Mr. Gilbert, will you walk me back? In case _Vash._.."

"Sure kid. I'll make sure he yells at me instead of you."

He was amused when she placed his hand on top of his, as would a storybook princess. She looked up at him, as if to tell him he had her permission to start. He led her slightly, placing his large rough hand underneath her tiny bare one. He was careful that his heavy combat boots did not make any noise, or accidentally tread on her.

Gilbert opened the door to her compartment quietly, blocking the pale light from entering with his body. The scales of fish on the floor gleamed silver in the moonlight as he slid them out of the way.

"Goodnight, Mr. Gilbert." Lili whispered, looking bashfully at her shoes. "And thank you."

Gilbert nodded in his curt, military way. He took a halfstep to leave, before stopping himself. He smiled earnestly at the little girl. Gilbert tipped his hat like a gentleman. "Sleep well, Miss Lili."

He closed the door behind her and pushed the fish back into place, starting back to his own quarters in a much better mood than the one he had left it in.

XXXX

Gilbert was awoken very pleasantly that next morning.

"EVERYONE. ON DECK. NOW."

Ludwig opened an eye and stood up. "What does the Dane want now?"

Mathias was standing on the deck near the bow. His crew, minus the blond Finn who must have had his turn steering the boat, stood with him. The dog was at Berwald's feet, and the bird was seated on the railing. It eyed Gilbert warily. Vash and Lili were on the deck too. Vash had -predictably- taken his loaded Gewehr with him. Lili was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and her little cloth rabbit was hanging limply from her hand.

"Køhler!" Vash yelled. "What is our current location?"

"48°N, 9° E. Passed through Bavaria last night. Right now we're on a southern tributary of the Danube, at the edge of Baden-Württemberg, a few dozen kilometers north of Switzerland." the Dane reported.

"If we're not in my country, what the hell have you called us up here for?"

"I called you all here to notify you of a, uh, small problem." Mathias announced, smiling like a used-car salesman.

The Swiss stared at him promptingly.

"We're out of gas." Mathias answered.

"What do you mean, we're out of gas?"

"There's no more stuff in the engine to burn. We miscalculated the wind. Every second we're drifting."

"What are our options?"

Mathias straightened his black and red trenchcoat. "The other boat is still around, and she's gaining on us. Now, worry not, I have a plan. It _might_ seem a bit drastic, but-"

"Out with it!" Ludwig bellowed.

"You all need to get off. They can't find you on my ship." Mathias said with finality.

"So something goes wrong and Mr. Businessman wants to cut the fat, huh?" Zwingli said, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes.

"What makes you so certain they'll board anyway?" Elizabeta accused.

Feliks's eyes traced to the shore. "Where the hell do we get off? You're going to leave us stranded just in the woods?"

"No. Well, yes. See, I know it _seems_ bad-"

Ludwig stepped forward. "You are not going to strand us in the alps in January without proper supplies."

"There's no other way but to put you all in the lifeboat! We'll pass them if we drift back downriver! They've noticed we're dead in the water, but if we were actually innocent we would have tried to contact them for help by now. If those guys are already suspicious, they'll board us and measure the boat all day until they eventually find you! Then they'll kill all of us!"

"You call yourselves sailors. Use the sails to outpace them." Ludwig said.

"Even we can't use the sails to navigate up a mountain. The river starts from snowmelt off the Alps. We're fighting gravity and the current, as well as the winds. Cold air is denser than warm air, so it sinks down the mountain faces against us. Unfurling the sails would only send us back even faster."

"Find another way then! We paid for a way to our destination and that is what we will get!" Ludwig demanded.

"I'm sorry, but it's not possible by my boat." Mathias held.

"This is my final warning."

"Ludwig, there's nothing I can do!"

"Then take us to the shore. Don't just strand us in a rowboat to capsize in!" Ludwig said.

"We'll never make it to the shore without you being seen!"

"So you'll just dump us over the side like trash? The fog will hide us at this distance. I said either get this ship working to take us to the town, or get us to shore!"

"We can't do that! They're getting too close!"

Gilbert saw Ludwig lunge forward and snatch the puffin sitting on the railing by its featherless legs. He gripped the bird around the collarbone in one hand and yanked the heel of his right over the bird's skull in an upward motion. There was a sharp bodily crack. Ludwig dropped the limp creature to the grimy deck of the ship. The snow-white feathers of its breast stained immediately with gray slush. One clawed, webbed, orange foot twitched before freezing statue still on the cold floor.

Gilbert felt it unfair, in a way. He had given the bird his pardon with Lili last night. And now Lud had gone and killed it.

"When I make a demand, you follow it. That was your example. Next time I shoot one of you."

Emil was screaming in hysteria. Lukas was holding him back. Berwald was trying to revive the dead bird whose brain stem was cracked in two. Hanatamago had raised her tail erect and was yapping at Ludwig. Lili was hiding behind Vash. Vash was loosing shot after shot into the air, roaring in Swiss for everyone to be calm. Elizabeta was looking frantically at the receding shore. Feliks was staring at the little black blur behind them that was growing steadily larger.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Emil screamed. Lukas pinned the teen's arms behind him. Ludwig's smooth straight features were twisted in a challenging mask.

Gilbert loosed his pistol from his hip. He fired between the faces of Ludwig and the kid. Emil sprang rearward, landing on his butt and hands with his legs sprawled in front of him. Ludwig took a step back and stared at his brother.

"Lukas, bring us on the shore around the bend and behind that boulder. We should be out of sight of the other boat for a few minutes. Get in close. Berwald, get the boarding planks. There's no time to send out your rowboat." Gilbert ordered.

There was silence.

"…Aye. What he said." Mathias allowed, after a moment. "Lukas, get Emil out of here. And tell Tino to get me a map from the bridge. Berwald, planks!" With word from their own they scattered. The Swede returned holding a big plank of wood and started propping it up against the side of the ship.

Gilbert marched over to where Vash and Lili stood. "Any objections?"

"Nothing that we can change." Vash huffed, nodding firmly once. He looked over to the looming Dane. "Take us to shore, as Ludwig says. It's better than being captured by Gestapo."

"I'm afraid only you five are going." Mathias said. He stepped over to Vash. "I need this one or his gun to stay with us."

"What? Why him?" Feliks asked.

"The Germans are going to want an explanation for all of the rifle shots before when they board us. Unless he'd allow me to take his gun, he's it." Mathias said solemnly, but without yield.

"You're not going to leave Lili alone with these barbarians unless you'd like a bullet in your skull!" Vash threatened, stepping over to his sister.

Mathias shook his head. "Fine! Both of you can stay. We'll pass the Nazis, you two and the crew will be on the deck when they board, we'll drift down to the next town, buy some gasoline at a black market, then drop you back at the border town."

"How come they get the express ride?" Gilbert accused.

"You four are the ones that if they discover hunkering in my hold is gonna get us strung up in the closest town's square. This is a commissioned officer on leave and his sister taking a quiet, economy tour of the Alps. _And_ , they're the ones actually paying." Mathias replied.

"Fuck you."

"Relax, relax. I said I have a plan, didn't I Gil?" Mathias appeased. He didn't seem as confident as before.

Tino trotted back from the bridge. In his hands was a small map of the river. Mathias unfolded the section map in front of the two soldiers. He pointed at the bottom of a section of the river that was curved like a lowercase letter 'n'.

"We're here," Mathias explained, pointing to the right leg of the n. "If you get off here, and walk southwest, you'll get to where the village is. You're not stranded. It's a land shortcut. In fact, it's just a few hour walk to the town that we were going to. Fifteen short kilometers. But you'll probably have to spend the night in the woods."

"And what if they don't show?" Gilbert questioned, turning his attention to the Swiss.

"We'll show if you're not late. Maybe. Meet us at the red tavern in town." Vash said. "You're all just suicidal enough to be useful to me in a fight. Also, Mathias, when we stop I have to make an important phone call."

"To whom?" Gilbert found himself inquiring, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Rome."

"Just gonna call up Rome? You do know what state South Italy is in now, right?"

"No... that's his codename that we use in case the phones are tapped. I know mine at my house most certainly was. He's the one I was speaking Romansh to earlier. Hardly anyone knows that language, it's descended from ancient Roman and it still survives in the remote mountains of Switzerland. He's part of a southern resistenza. He will have a house for you all to stay at in my country."

"It would be totally easier if someone just invented wireless telephones already." Feliks muttered.

Mathias nodded at the Swiss. "Fair enough."

Vash looked at the other four central Europeans sternly. "Any of you ever climbed a mountain before?"

Neither Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliks, Elizabeta spoke up. His experience consisting of the swamps of northern Germany, Poland, and western Russia, Gilbert wasn't sure if he had ever even _seen_ a mountain.

"Find a rhythm between breathing and stepping," Vash educated. "Don't talk when you climb. When you descend, place your feet at perpendicular angles so you don't slip. Keep your hands always free for when you fall. Going down will kill you, not up. Mind the oxygen difference."

"There is an oxygen difference?" Gilbert asked. He had noticed nothing.

"Yes. Lowlanders won't notice until they start moving, or even at all if I don't warn them. But you'll find when you're tired, you'll never catch your breath."

"Thanks Vash."

A whistle sounded from the bridge. The boat had closed the distance to the bank so that a piece of wood could be stretched across it. The boat stopped. Berwald and Tino lowered it into place.

Elizabeta looked at Gilbert nervously. Gilbert smiled at her reassuringly. "Ladies first. I'll be down in a minute."

"Be careful, Mr. Gilbert." Lili whispered, slipping away from her guardian to tug on his shoulder. She lowered her voice. "Vash tells stories there's monsters out in forests like this."

A loud guffaw broke out behind him. Gilbert turned his head. Mathias was leaning on the main mast, tossing his neck up to the foggy sky as he laughed. His teeth caught in the light as he lowered his head, his sharp blue eyes staring poignantly between Gilbert and Lili. "Oh yes! Best watch out now, they gobble up young defectors who don't go to bed on time!"

"Lili, we'll be fine. We'll see you again tomorrow. You- shut up, Dane. Do you not have an anchor to be raising?"

"Aye," Mathias said, motioning something with his hands towards the bridge. The ship started drifting again. Mathias took off his hat, his expression somber for once. "Gilbert, godspeed."

"And you: you're a heartless ass, but don't get caught."

Mathias smiled sadly. "We always get out of these." He waved up at the bridge and whistled. The boat was pulling away when Gilbert jumped off, his boots landing in the wet gravel on the banks of the Danube.

Elizabeta and Feliks were looking at him expectantly. Ludwig had receded into the forest and was staring through the mist to watch the black boat, thinking some things Gilbert couldn't know. Gilbert hid himself behind the trees too. The fog was too thick that he couldn't see either of the boats. A creeping notion warned him that maybe, he rather _would_ be out in the forest than have to face the Nazis on the boat. At least in the forest he knew what dangers to expect.


	46. Chapter 46

**-Gilbert Beilschmidt-**

"Do you _see_ anything?"

"Yes. Fog."

"Do you _hear_ anything?"

"No." Gilbert grunted, crossing his arms from behind a tree. There was nothing to be done or seen about the current situation on the river. They walked away perpendicular to the bank through the fog towards the west.

There grew no underbrush beneath the trees, only blankets of moss, mist, and pine needles, leaving a sense of emptiness. The black forest was an eerie one. The trees were coniferous, their dark gray trunks devoid of living branches until the dense forest canopy. Lichen speckled boulders as big as homes dotted the landscape. The ground was rocky wet and sloped steadily upward. Beautiful, but dangerous.

Like any good soldier, Gilbert took mental inventory.

He had fifteen kilometers to cover.

He had four people.

Two pistols.

One knife.

No water.

No food.

And a destination of only plausible existence. Ever in good spirits, Feliks grinned widely and clapped his hands together. "Well guys, at least it can't like, get much worse, right?"

At that moment Gilbert saw a fat snowflake fall to the ground in front of him. The thick wet kind. More began to follow at a uniform rate in the distance in front of the gray trees. Gilbert glared at Feliks. The Pole's smile faltered.

"Nice job, smartass."

"We'll have to find a way so we don't freeze to death overnight." Elizabeta hummed uncertainly.

Feliks smiled and kicked a stone. "Maybe we should have just fought the Nazis with the Vikings and the Swiss."

"With what? We had three guns between the eleven of us." Elizabeta said.

"Don't know about you guys, but I'd rather die against Nazis. All dying out here will do is feed the worms." Feliks said.

Things were looking grim. Much too melancholy for the troops to run efficiently. Yes, morale was an imperative of a properly functioning unit.

"What are we gonna drink?" Feliks said again.

Gilbert cleared his throat. "I would like to announce to you all that my birthday is coming up soon."

"The river's plenty wet enough."

"But the bacteria. We'll get sick."

He spoke again. " _This very month of January, actually-"_

"Then we'll drink the snow. There'll be plenty soon enough."

_"And if you guys wanted to, I don't know, throw an awesome party or anything-"_

"Good idea. There's no bacteria in fresh snow!"

"Perhaps if you intend to die _,_ eating the snow would be a good idea."

_"A party would be completely fine with me-"_

"Well what makes you the water expert Ludwig?"

_"Despite my charming demeanor and incredible good looks, I really don't have any other friends. So that luckily leaves you with the joyous duty of-"_

"They teach these sorts of things in the army. In these conditions ingesting even fresh snow will lead to death by hypothermia."

"Alcohol and a night I won't remember would be sufficient for celebrations. As for _presents_ -"

"Then we'll like, melt it. Duh."

"In what?"

"I don't know!"

"Exactly."

Gilbert's lips froze over his next thought. He felt his tongue sharpen. "Would you all stop this mindless complaining?"

"We were not complaining. We were thinking. Unless you have any bright ideas Gilbert, I suggest we continue with it."

Unfortunately, his usual brilliance was not up to producing any useful strokes of genius beyond an insulting retort. Gilbert broke a branch off from a sapling as he walked and swung it boredly in his hand. To each his own, he supposed.

The change was subtle at first. He noticed it when he tried to touch his thumb to his index finger. It was a simple enough action, and the rest of him felt oddly fine, but it just didn't seem to work as smoothly as it should have. He repeated the dexterity test with each of his other fingers, touching them to his thumb. They felt wiry. Like pistons in a machine that were too cold and close together. His body was devoting his strength to the big muscles, and not wasting his energy on the tiny precision ones. He didn't know if it was because of the cold or his diet or both. He dropped the stick onto the whitening ground. Maybe they really were starving to death.

"Guys, I'm like, super seriously hungry." Feliks whined.

Gilbert grunted unsympathetically.

"Guys. You know what I've been wondering?"

"What Feliks?" Elizabeta asked.

"If you ate yourself, would you become bigger or smaller?"

"Bigger." Gilbert said.

"Smaller." Ludwig answered at the same time. Then they looked at each other.

"Well, think about it!" Gilbert barked. "If you cut off a part of you and ate it, that would be a lot of food. And also one less part of you to keep alive. It's a double win."

Feliks's eyes went wide. "What if you were, like, just a mouth!"

"Idiots. You disconsider the side effects. Your body would slowly eat itself whether you cut it off and put it in your mouth or not. That is why you become thin. It wastes a lot of energy to digest things, and only a tenth if it is converted to actual body mass. So it is scientifically impossible to grow bigger from eating yourself. You would go into shock, and because of your injuries would probably be immobilized or succumb to blood loss or infection. Also, Feliks, you would be dead long before you could consume your entire body. You need your organs."

"I hate science." Gilbert snorted. Took the fun out of arguing.

"You are correct." Ludwig said aridly. "Science is obviously a stupid practice, and has never gotten humanity anywhere. Why don't you cut off your calf and find out, Feliks? At least that way we would not have to deal with you anymore."

"Ludwig, did you like, not get enough hugs as a child or something?"

"Did a mule kick you in the head as an infant, and that is why you are so retarded?"

They had educated him on what sorts of plants were edible in the army. Anything with thorns or that was white was off limits. But the specifics had been tailored for the completely different climate of the steppe between Warsaw and Moscow. Nor was the fact that it was snowing helping in finding something to eat.

"I remember hearing that if you strip away the outer bark of a pine tree, you can eat the tough stringy stuff on the inside. You wanna give it a shot?" Gilbert said, handing Feliks his knife.

Feliks caught it neatly and clamored over to the nearest connifer. He cut three sides of a square along the trunk and peeled it back. He slit out a selection of thin yellowish white tree-stuff. He stripped a piece between his teeth. He chewed it like a cow, his face scrunched up in obvious distaste. He spat it into the snow.

"Tastes like the end of a shoelace." Feliks announced with a scowl.

Probably of no nutritional value. Gilbert wondered if it was only for a certain type of tree.

"Will we like...die?"

Gilbert felt a surge of rage pulse through his veins. "Ain't nobody gonna die here on my watch. I've fought in a thousand times worse in Russia!" But they gave him gear then. "Ain't nobody gonna die."

Feliks seemed cowed by his angry outburst. He swallowed. "...Okay."

"Look." Elizabeta's voice cut the air. She pointed above the gray tree spires into a lighter gray sky. A dark, snowless, column rose from the horizon. "Smoke!"

Ludwig's eyes flashed up. No verbal order needed to be made for everyone to figure out that was where they would be going. Gilbert initiated pace with a renewed swiftness towards where the smoke arose a few kilometers away.

It was a pretty little cottage, where the smoke came from. It was alone in a dip in the forest. It was almost cute with a steep shingled roof and artfully carved little shutters and sills. With white trim along its beams and carefully stained windows. A weeded flagstone path arched around it. Like a remote hunting lodge that had been left in the care of a widow for too long. Tall dark pines loomed in the back, along with a tiny shed. It seemed to be in a little bubble. The blizzard did not whip as harshly here.

He stalked up to the wooden door and banged on it once. "Open up."

No answer.

"This is the Schutzstaffel. Open up!"

He and Ludwig exchanged a glance. With little more warning than a grunt, Gilbert drew his pistol, loped forward, and smashed down the brittle door with his shoulder.

He looked with his weapon first, eyes second. Swinging it as a U-boat would a scope. The wooden house had the same quaint look on the inside as it did on the outside, with its old knitted things. It seemed to have only two rooms, a parlor and a kitchen, along with an upper area of some sort he couldn't see into. A black woodstove glowed faint red in the corner of the livingspace. His hunger-sharpened nose detected a faint, sickly sweet smell. He motioned that it was safe for Elizabeta and Feliks. Ludwig was already poised at his right. For some reason, Gilbert never heard Ludwig click the safety on his pistol off.

He opened the door to the second room. A suffocatingly nauseously sweet scent assaulted him. Something that belonged both in a battlefield and in a deli. Similar to pork. Cooked or raw he was unsure, but there was something different about it. Familiar. Human. Like sex, of urea and human body, but off.

A door closed. Footsteps. A clink of something metallic lifting from a surface. The Germans whirled towards the sound.

"Oh, guests!"

An older woman hunched under a gray shawl staring up at him and smiling surprised and hopefully. She had small red eyes hidden under her wrinkles. Not true red like Gilbert's, the kind of red that happened when someone stared into smoke for too long. Gilbert stared at her, wondering how in such a small house she could genuinely or pretend not to sense them earlier. Where had she been hiding?

"I can not always see so well. Or hear, really. That happens when you get to be my age."

Old recluse. Feeling a rare trace of unethicality, Gilbert stowed the nose of his pistol away from the lady's smiling face. Gilbert's explanation was just how he liked it. Curt. But not necessarily disclosing the full truth. "We were lost."

"Three strapping handsome young men come to my door. And you dearie," the old woman squinted. She touched Elizabeta's chin gingerly. "What a pretty little doll you are! What are you doing with these men?"

Elizabeta retreated behind Gilbert. The strange old woman shambled over, feeling for the edges of the table. She accidentally kicked Ludwig's boot as she waddled before him. Ludwig frowned.

"Aww. Everyone but this one is so thin. Please stay, I can fix you something to eat. Take a seat by the stove, dears. Maybe one of you could bring in some firewood from outside, it's difficult for my old bones to manage in this cold. You two big ones. You go outside." she said, pointing at the Germans.

Gilbert and Ludwig exchanged a wary glance. Neither obeyed the order. Some instinct in him warned him not to turn his back. His hand turned the knob to leave the kitchen, only to find it did not yield. The door was locked. It was not locked when he entered the room. The woman noticed.

"Oh... fudge. Silly door does that sometimes. I think I left the key somewhere. You there, girl, you'll help me look for it. Your eyes are better than mine." the woman said, starting to mess around with objects on the table.

"Elizabeta, don't move." Gilbert ordered. The Hungarian froze. "We're not staying." Gilbert said darkly. "And we are going to be taking some of your things on our way out."

"You Nazis think you can just do whatever you want these days. It was never like this in the Kaiser's day. Stay for supper at least, if you won't the night. Then I'll give you some of my things. Please, I hardly get any visitors. Especially such young ones."

"I've been so lonely since _he_ died," she continued. The woman slid over, always facing the four with her back to the wall. Her feminine, catlike grace along the wall did not align with her previous movements. She stood before the aged thin wooden door, blocking it. She was smiling warmly at them, crows feet stretching around her wrinkled eyes. Something roared at Gilbert to leave.

"This is the last time I will ask. Open the door." Gilbert said.

Gray tendrils of crackly hair swished like a rotted grass skirt as she slowly shook her head. "Please stay the evening, officers."

Ludwig's pistol was in easy access on his hip. He had a better angle, he did not think the woman could see it.

"Lud." Gilbert whispered tersely, glancing at it for a millisecond.

Ludwig slightly shook his head.

" _Ludwig._ " he ordered again.

"I'm out."

Useless Ludwig. Gilbert pulled his pistol from his coat in one fluid arch, his thumb simultaneously thrusting away the safety. He aimed at the witch's heart and pressed the trigger.

She released a straggled scream as her lungs filled with blood. A scream of a stricken chimpanzee, with all of the terror that man could possibly posses, but without a single human sound. He had heard it before. But the woman was too weak, too filthy and decrepit fight it. She staggered back, forward, and then back again before collapsing on her wooden floor. There was a clean slit of something sharp cleaving through muscle. Then she was still.

Somewhere, Feliks whimpered.

Gilbert inhaled deeply. "Elizabeta, Feliks, leave now. Search upstairs for anything useful."

Elizabeta's voice was earnest and quiet. "Gilbert, I can help you here with whatever you need."

He wanted her to stay. But he did not want her or Feliks to have to see this horror scene he had created any longer. "We'll meet up with you in a few minutes."

The door creaked open after Feliks skittered around the pool of blood on the floor.

Grimly, Gilbert padded over to the corpse on the ground. Old bones weighing next to nothing, he did not have a difficult time flipping the women over onto her back. Curled in delicate fingers something metallic glimmered under the blood. It was a long butchering knife she had been hiding. It had slipped into her back when she fell.

He heard Ludwig inhale sharply in realization from beside him.

Silently, Gilbert pulled off his left glove with his teeth and tucked it in his armpit. He brushed away her white fingers from the knife hilt as a child would crumbs from a table, and crouched down to wrench the tool from between the body's kidneys. It didn't come out as cleanly as it could have. After a small amount of tugging he pulled the bloodied handle free from the sloughing wrinkled flesh, the white fat separating from the red muscle as he did. When he went to inspect it that was all it was. A hilt. The rusty blade had separated somewhere behind the cartilage of her spinal column. Frustrated, he threw the now useless wooden chunk on the ground where it spun under the table.

Gilbert jabbed a finger towards the kitchen. "Search it." he ordered at Ludwig. He himself marched over to check the parlor. Except for chairs and a bookshelf it was empty. He looked in closer at the bookshelf.

No, perhaps there was something useful.

Carefully hidden behind a dusty tome was a glass jar. It was sealed with a cloth and a band and was a quarter full of a grainy white substance. Old lady must have been saving up rations for months. He flipped away the lid and dipped two fingers into the sugar. Good energy, but hard to eat.

Gilbert raised the glass jar, licking a finger clean. "Guess what I found."

Ludwig looked at him through the doorway, raised one eyebrow of mixed approval, and then resumed throwing open drawers. Gilbert strolled back to the kitchen, the jar clutched between his fingers.

"Nothing more useful than butter knives and table salt." Ludwig reported.

Gilbert's own search of the shelves had yielded nothing but botany diagrams and strange recipe books. No real food. No weapons. Neither looked at the blood on the floor.

"We should check the shed. See if there are any useful tools we can use." Ludwig said eventually.

"Right." Gilbert confirmed.

A peculiar sensation of déjà-vu encompassed him as he headed through the snow towards the shed with Ludwig. But this time, he knew that if there were any hiding Jews Ludwig would not be shooting them. There was no ammo in Ludwig's gun.

The smoky pork scent assaulted him again as they pushed the shed doors open. Stronger this time. He heard the buzzing of flies. In the dark shed Gilbert did not see the rakes and pitchforks and bags of feed he hoped for. The skinless remains of a human body glistened in the light, hung by a meathook on the wall at the back of his neck. A young male. Younger than either of them. Its eyes and lips were gone, as were slices of red flesh along the inside of his thighs. The veins dripped out like jellyfish tentacles from below the quadriceps. A fat white maggot emerged from the left eye socket and disappeared into what was left of the nostrils.

He coughed and gagged on the scent. It filled his mouth and lungs like smoke from the unholiest fires of hell. The noxiousness of it made his eyes water. He could taste it. Made his throat close up and urged him to run. Made his tongue swell. His head spin. And perhaps worst of all, his stomach moan.

Gilbert flew from the shed, past Ludwig, throwing the doors open as he tore through the snow. He fled into the surrounding forest. He ducked behind a tree out of sight of the house and tried to retch. But nothing came. He scooped snow and held it to his throat. It cooled him and slowed his heart. About two minutes later, he heard the crunching footsteps of Ludwig's approach behind him.

"Elizabeta and Feliks are in front of the house. I told them we need to keep moving south, we will not make fifteen kilometers by tomorrow if we stay here for the night." his brother's voice said. "They found three blankets."

Gilbert gripped the tree next to him and stood up. He would never stay here. He brushed the hair and sweat off from his forehead with his cap as he placed it back on his head. "Good... But I have something to say to you."

Ludwig stopped. His voice was even, quietly rejecting the trauma of what they had just seen. "Yes?"

Gilbert grabbed his brother. "What do you mean, you were out? You let yourself run out of bullets?"

"I used the last ones." Ludwig replied simply.

"On what? The Jews? You disappeared back in Vienna, _somehow_ know where the SS club is, and now look at this - you're out of bullets! When something actually important happens! What the fuck did you use them all on? Why didn't you tell me?"

"They were mine, and had been mine since before we left Auschwitz. I did not think I needed to tell you anything."

The lofty, superior nonchalantedness of Ludwig's tone sent a jolt of rage shooting through Gilbert. Enough rage to somehow pull Ludwig, who he was sure must have had twenty kilos on him, sternly by his collar down to his face.

"Now listen! Next time you're out of ammo, you tell me. We were both at risk. Think of all the battles we lost in this war as a result of some officer's poor communication. That is not going to be us."

Ludwig huffed. _"Fine."_

"Good." Gilbert finished. He released Ludwig. He quickly pulled out his own pistol and shucked open the chamber. Four remaining lead bullets filled the curved slots. He pressed two of them out, and shoved them in front of Ludwig.

"Take em dammit. Two for you and two for me. I ain't gonna ask what you did with the last ones. But don't waste these."

Ludwig took them. Gilbert guessed that he was debating on saying thank you, but he must have been too proud.

They regrouped and left the house. Elizabeta and Feliks never saw the barn. The gray sky began to darken above the tree tops and the storm began to ebb, but left several centimeters of snow on the ground. It was only freezing, but from the altitude, their hot wet breath crystallized into thick clouds twice the size as he was used to at sea level. Gilbert wondered then about how Vash and Mathias had fared, he only hoped Mathias was truthful when he said they were the only contraband he had been smuggling. But perhaps it would take even less evidence than that to have them all arrested. Or maybe they fought.

Maybe they strapped Cap up in the crow's nest and he sniped everyone who set foot aboard. And then they took over the black boat and are already on their way.

Yeah, right.

A rattling fell over the forest. Bits of sticks fell from the canopy, landing soundlessly in the snow up to his ankles. The logical part of him was not afraid when the dragonlike shadows flashed over the white. There was nothing to bomb in a forest. A quick glance up betrayed only what he already knew. Little British targets adorned the wingtips.

"Well. Someone is fucked."

Feliks looked at the sky and darted behind a tree. Crazy boy. The planes couldn't do anything even if they did see them. Unless they wanted to shoot them for sport. But they were far too high.

Elizabeta pointed at one. "Look. That one is smoking."

"You know the Swiss will shoot them sometimes."

Snow fell from the canopy as the engines roared overhead. A flash of something moving caught Gilbert's eye on the forest floor. A little gray rabbit was frightened up by the propellers. How cute.

BLAK!

Elizabeta stopped midstep and Feliks jumped in the air. Ludwig's head whipped towards the sound, his hand about to raise his own gun but faltering when he saw it was just Gilbert's still smoking.

"What was that!" Feliks squawked, still standing on his toes with Eliza.

Gilbert strode forward and picked it up. "Dinner."

Feliks eyed the fallen creature solemnly. He shifted his feet. "...Should we like, say something?"

"Sure, send it to the great Polish rabbit warren in the sky. We camp here tonight. I'll clean it."

Feliks walked off a ways, put his hands together and started talking. He quickly gave up on German and switched to Polish, or maybe even Latin.

"Actually, no," Gilbert paused, swiveling and bouncing once on his toes. He hefted the stiffening kill in his right hand by the nape as he turned his head around. "Ludwig, you do it."

Ludwig blinked skeptically. "What? You want _me_ to clean it?"

"Did I stutter?"

"That has always been your job."

"Well, let's see now. The _lighter_ is mine. The _knife_ is mine. And since I killed it; the rabbit is mine too. So if you want to eat tonight you might wanna do what I say."

Ludwig's teeth flashed in a defiant snarl. "Who the hell died and made you dictator of our little troupe!"

"Ludwig?" Gilbert pressed.

_"Yes?"_

Gil strode forward and pressed the handle of the knife into Ludwig's hands. Then looked sternly up into his eyes. "Grow a pair and gut the fucking rabbit."

The blond's eyes traced a distasteful line between the animal and the knife. "How is it done?"

"You know how. Take off the skin, entrails, paws, and what's left of the head and bury 'em somewhere. Then quarter it. I will be very displeased if you return my knife all bloody." He set the rabbit in his brother's other hand. Ludwig fixed him with his best I-hate-you stare. When he turned, for the briefest moment, the gray rabbit was pink and had button eyes. Feliks returned a moment later.

"Feliks, find firewood. As dry as you can. Liz, go with him and find some smooth sticks to roast meat on."

He turned back. Ludwig had started butchering the rabbit in the snow.

"Don't do it here! Do you want animals sniffing around a bloody camp all night? We're not gonna be here for just a couple of minutes, you know. I'm not gonna stay up all night keeping watch because of your mistake." Gilbert jerked his thumb behind him. "Do it a ways out."

Ludwig glared icily at him in a fashion which was in no way submissive before disappearing.

"Hey Gilly?"

It was Feliks who spoke. "Yes?"

"If I had a little brother I think I'd be nice to him."

He hesitated for a moment. Whose side was the kid on? "This ain't the time." he defended gruffly. "Just go find some stuff to burn."

Feliks smiled, performed a stiff mock salute, grabbed Elizabeta's hand and skipped out into the forest.

Gilbert kicked a pit in the ground with the heel of his boot where Ludwig had left the blood, snapped a few branches from nearby trees and set about putting the modest pile aflame. He realized then that although the wood might have been able to slide by, he was a fool if he thought it would actually catch aflame by itself. There was scarcely any fluid left in his lighter anyway. He would need a tinder. A grass of some sort. But all of that was frozen and soaked. He might as well have been Himmler searching for the Holy Grail. His brow wrinkled as he thought, shifting his weight on his heels as he studied the little pile of sticks for a solution.

A slight crunching of ice denoted Ludwig's reappearance. He placed the pink meat down in a clean spot of snow. He observed Gilbert silently.

"Too wet." Gilbert eventually briefed.

Ludwig shifted his clothings. He pulled out his wallet. He slid a piece of paper from it and handed it to Gilbert wordlessly.

Gilbert stared at the offering. He turned it around in his hand before looking confusedly back up at Ludwig.

"It's a photograph." Gilbert said, "Of us."

Ludwig did not offer him any more of an explanation.

Gilbert ran his thumb delicately along the faded grayish brown ink of the photograph. Ludwig was only a child in the picture. He was sitting in a chair that was too big for him and laughing, three blurred puppies squirming on his lap and chewing on his fingers. Gilbert was somewhere in his teens, standing behind his brother. Gilbird was playing with his hair. Resting on Gilbert's shoulder was the hand of his father, who stood behind him. But that part of the picture was torn away.

"Don't you have any mark notes left?" Gilbert asked.

"Not a pfennig. The Fishermen took all we had."

"You're never going to look at this again?"

"It's what we have, Gilbert. We must focus on the present. Not the past. Right now we need fire."

It was the remorseless, challenging look that Ludwig gave him that made him realize his brother's true intentions. Had he not been using it against him, he would have been proud of his little brother's guile. Gilbert had raised no fool. Ludwig had presented him with a test. A test of his resolve.

A test Gilbert would not fail.

Gilbert lifted the yellow flame to the corner of the photograph. He threw it to the pile of wood he had collected and it ignited quickly, flames licking across the edges. He watched the face of the strange blond boy in the picture bubble like tar and the pigment to dissolve, and felt for a moment as if he had committed murder. An ashy, carbon black, crinkly film replaced where the image had been and creeped slowly, gaining courage, across to the other side after the flames. The blackness curled backwards and atrophied into flourfine ash. The fire was lit. Feliks and Elizabeta returned moments later.

The sinking sun drew watery orange and gray shadows across their hollow in the trees as they prepared their feast. There was little talk from anyone. He was too busy shoveling meat down his gullet. It didn't particularly taste like much when he bothered to taste it. It was scaldingly hot as he tore it from the skewer and he swallowed it quickly. He realized he was not paying particular attention to cooking the pieces properly. Lifting his eyes, he realized he was not especially less patient than anyone else.

"It's okay. You," he swallowed noisily. "you won't get sick from eating rabbit raw, as long as we don't eat too much. Our ancestors ate raw meat and they turned out okay."

"Gilbert," Ludwig took a bite. "The appendix in modern humans is nothing but a vestigial organ, its hypothesized function of digesting raw meat having been rendered null," again, "thousands of years ago due to..."

Ludwig's attempted sentence trailed off, his care for the subject seeming to evaporate.

He needed more. Elizabeta wasn't done yet. Maybe he could finish some of hers. She was smaller than he was, she did not need to eat as much.

He berated himself harshly. His stomach would figure out it was full in a few minutes. No, he would not do that. He looked at a pile of bones he had previously discarded. He picked one up and examined it. Maybe there was still marrow on the inside.

Feliks looked at him gnawing on bones. And then slowly looked to Ludwig still wolfing down meat.

"And here:" Feliks read, layering his voice with the clipped accent of an English naturalist. "The common German. A peculiar subspecies of _Homo sapiens_. We've stumbled upon the typical scene of a pack of two Germans after their hunt. Which they most likely killed by getting their prey obscenely drunk with left over Oktoberfest beer prior to bashing it with a club in the manner of cave men."

"Shut up." Gilbert and Ludwig growled simultaneously around their meal. They looked at each other angrily, as if offended that the other dare say the same thing at the same time.

"Uh oh! I think they've spotted us! We could attempt a peace offering if we had some traditional German Weißbier- unfortunately all we have is this absolutely amazing Polish vodka. But it's too much for them. No sudden movements. Their eyesight is very primitive and highly motion sensitive."

Gilbert tossed a rib at Feliks's head, which the Pole neatly dodged while his giggles reverted back to his normal voice.

"I'll be taking that vodka now, _please_." Gilbert said.

Feliks grinned and scooped another clump of fresh snow into the glass jar of sugar, passing it to Gilbert. "Sorry if it's a bit strong, Gilly."

Gilbert set it by the fire, drained his quarter of the sugar water in a few gulps and passed it back to the Pole.

"Y'know, this ain't half bad. We just need some records and a player. If it were a little warmer and we still had some beer," he glanced pointedly at Feliks and grinned. "Or even some vodka, this would be a pretty nice little vacation."

It was like camping out in the woods with Alfred and the Red. Except here he wasn't about to get shipped off to Siberia and or shot full of lead by a bunch of idiots barely fluent enough in his language to communicate with each other. Much nicer that way.

Eliza cracked a louse between her fingertips. She looked up at him for some reason. "Thank you for dinner, Gilbert."

Gilbert belched happily in answer. "Thank the rabbit."

"Guys, someone tell a campfire story!"

"Alright, I've got one." the Prussian said, kicking his legs out in front of him to warm his toes. "So Adolf Hitler, Goebbels, Himmler, and the ghost of Reinhard Heydrich are all in their underwear and walk into a Czech tavern. Churchill and Stalin show up to the party late pushing a dead drunk Roosevelt in a wheelchair. See, Herr Hitler gets wasted on Russian vodka and makes the costly mistake of challenging Stalin to a match of who has a stupider mustache-"

"Good night." Ludwig rumbled, disappearing to lean against the far side of his tree and pulling his hat down and the flaps of his coat up around his ears to avoid listening to whatever blasphemy his brother spouted next.

Gilbert continued with his plotless parody of mildly current events and Feliks eventually butted in and recited a different tale involving two sentient ponies who fell in love named Tilbert and Welizameta. Elizabeta had started poking him with a stick, and initiated an epic sword fight he doubted Ludwig could sleep through. They danced around the campfire like heathens, drunk off of food and warmth, and waving the thin wooden skewers they used earlier as sabers talking in pirate accents. Needless to say, Gilbert had successfully disarmed the both of them with relative ease. Feliks had cornered Elizabeta to the ground against a tree. Agile as ever, she scooted between his legs, pulling down Feliks's pants. Only to have a stick pointed her throat by a smirking Gilbert.

The night passed. Elizabeta joked. Gilbert pranked. Feliks told. And soon enough, all but one of the members around the dying fire was asleep.

Gilbert lay awake and watched. He watched the darkness. He watched the hypnotizing dance of flames. He watched the slow rise and fall of Ludwig's chest, who had shifted from the far side of the tree towards the warmth and whose hat lay over his eyes. At Feliks, who often twitched or murmured something draped under one of the stolen blankets. His pale fingers played languidly in the dust. Eliza was asleep next to him. It was completely silent except for the crackle of wood. Not another creature stirred. The moon blazed high and cold, alone. It was their own universe. There was a moon, a campfire, a forest, and four humans. That was it. It did not need any more. He wished they could stay in this moment.

Elizabeta had pressed her back against his stomach, curling gently against his inside in a way that reminded him of how the backs of two silver spoons fitted together. Gilbert's right hand continued to twirl its fingers absentmindedly in the pool of coarse knotty brown curls on the ground. Elizabeta squirmed underneath his arm, turning around to look him softly in the eye. The silvery moon dyed her face ivory with deep shadows and a puff of milk-white mist spilled from her chapped lips and pooled against the black earth. "Gil?"

"Nnm?"

"Did you want to, um, do anything tonight?"

He thought about it for a brief moment. Elizabeta was half asleep snuggled up under his wing like a baby duckling. His stomach was warm and full. He looked at her and smiled contentedly. "No. I am happy."

She was pleased with that, it seemed. Elizabeta breathed a frosty kiss on his nose and closed her eyes. A tender smile spread across her lips too and they were both quickly asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thanks for reading so far. Let me know what you think.

Celtic


	47. Chapter 47

**\- Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

_"That word means he's not coming back?"_

_"Yes. You won't see him again for a very long time."_

_"Can I visit him where he is? Even just for a few minutes?"_

_"No, Lud. You can't get up to where he is from here."_

_"Gil? Why isn't he in there? Is he supposed to be in there?"_

_"Because we don't have his body, Lud."_

_"So we just bury an empty box, then..."_

_"Yeah."_

_"Why?"_

_"For closure, I guess. Now shh, the priest is talking."_

_"But how do you know he is dead if we don't have his body?"_

_"Mom said he was dead. The government said he was dead. I said he was dead. He's dead, Ludwig."_

_"Why? He wasn't even old yet- he had so much hair still! Do you remember all of his hair? I would get lost in it when he put me up on his shoulders. It was good when it was cold though, because it would help keep me warm."_

_"Yeah. I remember."_

_"...I want to visit him."_

_"You can't. Not for a very long time."_

_"How long?"_

_"Until you're dead too. Another sixty years."_

_"But we're so smart, Gilly. We Germans. I bet, when I'm grown, I'll invent a big new zeppelin. It will be big and strong enough to fly us there. To heaven. You can come with me. And Mother too. And Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster. And Gilbird. And those neighbors he liked."_

_"Hehh….alright."_

Somewhere, a crow cawed.

The blue black and white world looked deceitfully warm through the yellow haze of Ludwig's blond eyelashes. He opened them, sending flares of light scattering away. Oblique rays of sun speared towards the snow through the fanglike straight trees that surrounded their little copse. More out of habit than anything else, Ludwig checked his pistol. It was where it always was when he slept with it. Safe, right next to his heart. Still with the two bullets Gilbert had given him. Feliks had not stolen any.

The Polack and Hungarian were asleep. Snow dusted their backsides like atop the pelts of disobedient pets banished outside. Gilbert had unfolded his black silk tie and it lay loosely dangling around his throat as he snored.

Ludwig quietly departed from the clearing. He walked a long time downhill until he came to a small pond of snowmelt between two hills. He may eat and sleep like an animal. Such did not mean it was necessary that he _smell_ like one.

He dipped his hands unflinchingly in the icy water, washing his face, then running his thick fingers through his hair. He washed his prickled neck. His chest. His forearms. It felt good to be clean.

The surface was partially frozen over with a thin clear ice sheet near the stones that jut above the surface. If he positioned himself correctly, he could see his reflection in it. He stared at the Aryan in the ice for a moment. It blinked at him, frowning in distaste as it noticed the ragged appearance of his uniform.

Caught from the corner of his eye as he lifted his gaze he noticed a flaw in the white uniformity of melting snow. He saw a footprint. A canine pawprint.

It was lone and large. As he brushed his hand over it he realized it was easily broader than his palm. Too large for a fox. He wondered if a wolf had come to investigate them in the night. He did not think that wolves existed in this part of Europe anymore. They must be so far out of civilization that they had a population in the area.

The aspect that struck him was the length of the clawmarks. They were very long, pressing deep into the snow off from the inner edge of each of the four toes. Longer than he thought a wild canine's should be. If it was feral, its nails would have been worn down from running in the rough terrain. They were not natural to the present environment. They did not belong. Jews, gypsies, gays- Ludwig was an expert at finding things that did not belong.

Gilbert was the hunter among them. He would be more knowledgeable. He could tell exactly how recent it was.

He went back to their campsite. He rolled his brother on his back with the inside of his boot, away from the Hungarian his arms were around.

"Gilbert. Wake up."

"Mrrmmgh."

Ludwig proded him by his ribs with his boot. "Wake up."

"Elizabeta... Did you wanna have sex now?"

Ludwig pushed him again, significantly less gently this time.

Gil must have finally figured out who was speaking. Because this time the answer was: "I feel like shit. Go away."

"Gilbert, come up. It is dawn." Ludwig reiterated.

"We can sleep in more than that, you know."

Ludwig prodded him again. With a groan Gilbert's wideset eyes flickered open. "Hey! Liz and Feel are still out, what was that about? I hardly got any sleep at all!" Gil whispered.

"Then you should have gone to sleep earlier." Ludwig replied.

"They alright? Eliza and Feel?" Gilbert asked.

Before Ludwig would answer with a 'how would I know' Gilbert quickly reached over and held his two fingers to Eliza's carotid artery. Ludwig assumed it was to see if they had overindulged themselves or frozen to death overnight.

Gilbert rolled away from her and performed the same for Feliks who was sleeping close to the dead fire for lack of another body to keep him warm. The Polack stirred like a cat under the blanket and lazily murmured something disyllabic in his voweless language before falling still again.

Ludwig followed Gilbert with his eyes. "Come with me."

"Why? You find the rendezvous?"

"No. Come walk with me. We need to talk."

Gilbert stopped, and faced him a quarter-turn. "Why? You wanna bring me on a romantic date?"

"No."

Gilbert's silver eyebrows rose in consideration. But curious, he acquiesced.

Striding to where he left Elizabeta he saw Gilbert swiftly undo the round silver buttons along his sternum and carefully draped his black coat over her. He stood just in his white collared shirt and black suspenders under his uniform. It was stained a faint yellowish gray with sweat in some parts, as Ludwig's was now too.

A waste of a coat. Since Gilbert was actually conscious and moving around he would be needing it more.

"If she can't have me to warm her up, she can at least keep my coat." Gilbert explained.

Ludwig was in no mood to debate over the proper use of a man's coat. He had a feeling that the arguing would come later, anyway.

They walked quietly and slowly. With no meat left to break their fast it was pointless to waste the extra energy. It was the quiet of their movement that Ludwig noticed. It was no natural aptitude of theirs. Neither men were soundless movers up until they were at least fourteen years old. In Vienna neither of them had bothered to walk completely silently. Only now. Whether it was the quietness of a hunter or the quietness of prey he did not know. A part of him insisted the first.

"What did you take me out here to talk about?"

The blond was about to answer when Gilbert's arm shot across Ludwig's chest, stopping him from taking his next step.

He heard a wretched shriek. Talons raked just above him as a creature swooped. In the split second it passed over his head, Ludwig recognized it as a barn owl. It landed feet first in the snow ten meters before him. Its heart shaped head swiveled robotically to them as it sat on the ground with its wings covering its prize in the snow. It blinked its black almond shaped eyes at them, then heaved back into the air and away. Its talons were held clumsily beneath it, sleek like a Stuka with its landing gear still out.

It had been chasing a rodent of some sort. It had probably sensed their vibrations and went crawling up to escape.

"Christ. Don't make any sound when they fly, those things." Gilbert muttered, dusting the snow from his shirt as his dark eyes followed the shadow recede past the trees.

"Of course not. They have not the speed of other raptors and flying at night prohibits them from the thermals that gives other birds height. If not for quietness, how else would they survive?" Ludwig said.

"Think they're edible? Owls?"

"Certainly not enough meat to waste another bullet on. It's gone, Gilbert."

"That's what happens when you wake up too early. If an owl is still doing its thing- it's too early." the elder grumbled cantankerously.

But an idea struck him. An opportunity.

"Is the owl wrong for killing that mouse?" Ludwig asked.

"He's gotta eat." Gilbert said, busying himself in brushing powder out of the cuff of his sleeve.

"It could even be argued that without an owl or a creature like it, there could be so many rats fighting over food that none of them would have enough. And then they would all die. Might as well have the owl around." Ludwig continued.

Gilbert kicked a pile of snow dismissively as he walked. "I ain't no biologist."

"Say the owl has a flea. A parasite, if you will. Does the owl have the right to kill the flea that's bothering him? That's enriching itself from his blood and not giving anything but an itch in return?"

Gilbert had stopped walking, crossed his arms and was glaring at him.

"See? The strong can survive if they choose. The weak perish. It is not a sinless world for the survivors, Gilbert."

Gilbert whirled on his boots, staring hotly into his eyes. He jabbed a thick black finger at him indignantly.

"Another Goddam philosophy talk! You think I don't know that, Ludwig? You think I don't remember school?"

Apparently not.

Gilbert bared his teeth. "You forget that I am the older brother. Dying is easy, life is what's hard. I've seen enough people die -killed enough people myself- to know that! I was wrong about you before. I didn't raise you to be so naive. You know full well what you're doing. You're just _numb_ to it instead."

"It is just like what you did for us yesterday, when you shot the hare. It unfortunately died, but because of that we could keep living ourselves."

"Yes." Gilbert replied clippedly.

"You understand? Excellent!"

"I was happy to shoot it to eat it. But do the rabbits hunt each other?" Gilbert posed.

"I...No," Ludwig ceded. But Gilbert had missed the point. "Not directly. But if two males need to fight over a female, or if there isn't enough food, they will kill each other."

"That's not the same!" Gilbert protested.

"The outcome is. And always shall be. To the victor go the spoils."

"But there's a flaw in your metaphor. You use animals in place of human beings. We should have our morality. We as a species have far more to worry about than just procreating and finding enough to eat!"

_It seems you have actually been focusing considerably on those recently, Gilbert_.

Ludwig had made a joke. He would be sure to try and limit that in the future. But his comical epiphany was not the point he wanted to prove to Gilbert now.

"True. But like them there is still just the same motive to better ourselves. Everything we have done is an effort to improve the lives of ourselves and our families. Our countries. Are we not all animals in the end, Gilbert?"

Gilbert barked out an insulting laugh as he turned on him. "Yeah? Fine. We went along with the Reich and look where it got us? I'm not any better off. We're starving penniless out in some God forsaken black forest in the alps."

"Our current circumstances are a result of _leaving_. If we stayed we would still be safe back at camp."

"My girlfriend and Feliks would be dead. The Russian pigs would come and drag our shot up bodies by our ankles behind T-34s, after they sufficiently carved hammers and sickles into our frozen asses. Either that, or we could run back into the fatherland with our tails between our legs after we had destroyed the evidence of the camp." Gilbert answered callously.

Ludwig narrowed his eyes at the thought of the Russians. He hated to use this point. He didn't want to acknowledge her as a benefit to his brother. But he knew it would work.

"But if you never joined you would be alone. Through your work for the Reich you found Elizabeta."

Gilbert's eyes darkened angrily again, catching his tactic. "I did. But I certainly didn't deserve that."

"I still do not know why you didn't shoot her." Ludwig sighed.

"But I didn't, and because she changed me soon enough I'll be out of this mess...And you can be too, if you want."

"I will be out of this _mess."_ Ludwig growled. "The German army is very orderly."

Gilbert sighed. "Ludwig, why are you still doing this?"

_Because I care._

"Elizabeta allied herself with you in the first place to use you. I want to give you a last chance to come with me."

"Eliza is crafty, but not manipulative or cold hearted. You know my mind is made up. Nor do I plan on allowing you to go off to fight." Gilbert said it calmly, as if he already had a plan to stop him.

But he did not intend on mowing fields in Switzerland like some lowly immigrant. Honor was on his agenda.

"Why'd you really bring me out here?" Gilbert said.

"I found something earlier around here I wanted to show you."

"I don't see anything but spruce trees, you, and a puddle."

They arrived at where he was at sunrise, his boots pressing into the black detritus at the water's edge. His earlier bootprints still patterned the white snow and mud dark with snowmelt. But the wolf print was gone. Disappeared. Vanished like a gold coin down a Jew's sleeve.

"It's not here anymore." Ludwig observed.

"What was it?"

"An animal track. Maybe a dog. It was unusual because it had very long nails. I assumed you could deduce more than I."

Gilbert snickered. "What are you saying. You think we found ourselves a werewolf?"

"Do not be ridiculous. I know my dogs, Gilbert."

"Well, then if I had to guess," Gilbert droned, touching his finger and thumb to his chin and closing his eyes in thought. "I would say it was a large breed of domesticated pet. Would explain the long claws, since it lives indoors."

_But what would a domestic dog be doing here?_

They searched for any other of the prints nearby but found nothing. The snow was melting and their decomposing boots were becoming unnecessarily wet. Eventually they journeyed back to their campsite.

A musical but strident sound echoed through the pine boughs as they walked. The laughter of two voices floated to his ears. It was a strange sound, in a desolate place like this. It was the two easterners.

"No, no. Do it backwards!" A female voice urged.

Feliks was standing with his back to them his hands lowered and hidden somewhere in front of him. His trousers were down a bit. Ludwig realized a moment later that Feliks was urinating in the snow. Right in front of Elizabeta- how disgraceful.

Ludwig also did not understand why this was apparently so hilarious.

"Knock it off!" the German yelled, approaching on the scene. But he was ignored, drowned out by Elizabeta's raucous laughter. It was then that Ludwig noticed what design was carefully drawn by Feliks with yellow snow.

A swastika.  
The points were facing backwards. Counterclockwise. Like spokes on a cart wheel rolling into the past instead of the future.

Ludwig did something he thought he would not do. Forgoing the overpowering urge to use one of his limited bullets, Ludwig packed a clean hard iceball instead. He hurled it at the boy's back to stop any more mockery.

"Yiiee!" Feliks yelped, hastily pulling his pants back up. He whirled around to glare instinctively at the assailant. "What the heck was that for! Ow!"

The Polack seemed to realize then that it was Ludwig who threw the snowball, and perhaps why maybe he would not be very happy about his prized insignia being inscribed in Polish piss.

"Clean that up!" he barked. "Kick some snow over it!"

"What, you don't like it? I say it's better than most of the art you Nazis have turned out in the last twenty years." Feliks snickered.

He grabbed the boy by the collar and rammed his spine up against the nearest pine tree. "I order you to clean it up! Now!"

Feliks shook his head, blonde hair swishing. Ludwig raised his hand to strike. He was vaguely aware of the harpy buzzing and squawking about him like some sort of mosquito. He easily tuned her out.

Gilbert emerged from behind him. He looked down and hooted once in laughter along with them. Giggling idiots. Ludwig's frown deepened.

"What's going on here?"

"He won't clean up his _mess_." Ludwig growled, glaring pointedly between Feliks and the spot of snow.

"Oi! Lettim' go!" Gilbert demanded. "We're all up and so is the sun. No time for rough housing!"

Ludwig uncurled his fingers from the boy's collar and smashed him once against the trunk for good measure. Feliks stuck out his tongue once Gilbert had turned his back. The juvenile action was beneath Ludwig to acknowledge. So he just thrust up his chin and flexed his shoulders back.

"Now let's go. That place is due southwest of here. Sun is rising there, so south must..." Gilbert's orders faded into the background.

Ludwig was focused on other things. Keeping a safe distance from it for sanitary reasons, he quickly and dutifully kicked a spray of icy powder over it.

There. Good. Disgrace was gone.

He turned. The others were already walking away, their voices muted. Gilbert talked with his hands as he donned his coat, Elizabeta nodding on cue at his right. He observed them for a moment.

"Luddy! Keep up, willya?" Feliks hollered back, his voice hitching with a knowing taunt.

Ludwig's hands fell to his sides, concentration broken. No. Perhaps if he were lucky, those two giggling Slavs would fall through the ice and die today. Finding solace in the notion that he would not be here much longer, he strode forward after his brother.


	48. Chapter 48

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

Gingerly, Elizabeta flattened her tongue against the surface of the snow she cupped in her hands, pressing it against the palette of her mouth. When eating snow it was better that her mouth freeze, she supposed, than her insides. After walking for several hours the assortment of strangely dressed hikers were resting in the midday sun. Well, in a crater. Some unfortunate flight crew had accidentally dropped part of their bomb load here some years ago. She lay exhausted on the exposed rocks. The trees and ground were scooped away, crater walls eroded until the earthen edges were shallow, with a flat bottom slightly less deep than she was tall. Feliks was lounging cattishly on his stomach across the boulder, his feet crossing. His eyes were closed.

"We are behind schedule." a voice broke.

She swallowed the snow. "Ludwig, how many of your ribs can you count right now?"

"I don't know. Regardless I shall not be derobing to find out."

"Then let us rest ten more minutes. None of us are in any condition to be climbing mountains."

"No excuse. You would be running far harder on a deathmarch. And I am sure even then you would find some mangy thread of life to cling to."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that. It almost sounded like a compliment.

"Either way we need to keep moving." Gilbert said unflinchingly. Groaning, Feliks flopped up from his slouch. Elizabeta ate-drank one last palmful of snow before sliding her feet ungracefully off the edge into the melt.

The trek was downhill, having traversed the crest of the mountain sometime earlier on the arc of the sun. The sky was blue and the high winter sun was bright and warm upon her back. At least when the wind did not blow. The topsoil became too thin for trees and the alpine prairie was dotted with snow in the shade and grass in the sun. Despite the cold the scenery was beautiful for January. Before her the ground disappeared and she could not discern where Earth ceased and heaven began. Gilbert was ahead of her, halting on the precipice.

"HEY! Troops, get your frozen white asses up here _now!_ "

She trudged forward, smiling weakly at the thought. Who was the man to call _her_ ass white?

"Look at _that!_ " Gilbert's black clad arm sliced out to the sky.

"Oh my God! Can that, like, be right? Is that it?"

The men stood at the edge of a cliff. Peering down, she saw a village was nestled between the mountains. The cold air sloughed down the adrets to leave the dirt-road, alpine town blanketed in the thin white snow. The wall of every distant edifice was clad in pale stucco, framed in with dark wood beams, with roofs shingled in curving terra-cotta tiles. The short, quaintly kept buildings seemed unaware of the existence of the automobile. A river wove through the mountains, basking like a massive blue serpent in the crevice of the valley. The most beautiful snowmelt blue she had ever seen. Scales of packice clustered around the edges. But the ice was broken apart up to the village, as if by the bow of a ship.

"Only one way to find out!" Feliks cheered.

"Don't fall you idiots! We've come too far now! Lutz, this safe?"

"It appears stable. Approximate 70° angle of dep-"

Fatigue forgotten, she found herself racing forward after Feliks, her shaking hands rapidly descending the ledge until her feet hit the solid ground below. Feliks had grabbed her hand the moment she did and started running, trotting down the mountain like an ibex in the spring. Their legs tore indiscriminately through snow grass and mud. The white faces of the Alps ringed the southern horizon. Gilbert had waited at the top until everyone was safely down, then zoomed by her, grinning a challenge. She quickly loped to join him at his side. Endorphins sent renewed strength surging through her arteries. The crisp mountain air smelled of freedom.

"Eliza!"

Turning, she saw Gilbert had swung down in his lope, and was beaming like a child and holding a small weed. It had been preserved in the ice.

"It's called an Edelweiss." he said proudly.

What he held was a true wildflower. It wasn't overly lush or plump, nor with gaudy colors or a long stem. It wasn't quite white, rather a light shade of gray. It was spriggy and dry, with a wiry dark green stem. Its cone shaped petals fanned out like a flat star from the yellow center. Darwin had equipped the hardy mountain bloom with tiny hairs on its petals to keep it warm, which scattered the sunlight in a soft glow. _Noble white_ , the name meant.

"You're supposed to give them to women. S'least that's what the Bavarians say." clarified Gilbert.

In the background, she glimpsed Ludwig rolling his eyes.

She felt her cheeks stretch into a lipless grimace. "That is so hopelessly tacky..."

Gilbert, of course, remained undaunted. He kept grinning like a cocky young gymnasium boy, the little silver flower presented in front of him, one arm stretched towards her.

"But since it's you, I _might_ just put up with it." she said, accepting the sprig and weaving it carefully into her locks by her ear.

Gilbert beamed, dancing over to tassel her hair. "Hey careful you big brute, you'll wreck it!" Elizabeta said.

When the ground leveled out the four hid in the pine trees on the outskirts of the village and spoke strategy. They weren't sure if the town was actually in Switzerland or very southern Germany. They would do nothing to draw attention to themselves, as either way the village was likely too small for Gilbert and Ludwig's attires to be a common sight. The Germans both unbuttoned their outer shirts so their appearance was less distinctive. They would enter the town as a group, and find the red tavern Captain Zwingli had mentioned. They would figure out what to do from there. No stealing. No talking to inhabitants.

Perhaps it was Sunday, for upon entering there were few villagers around. The ones that were did not seem malicious. Most stared for a moment, but it was because the visitors appeared exactly as they were: that they had slept in the dirt. The people of the town spoke a strange language she could not understand. It was neither High German, French, nor Italian.

"Look at that street sign. _'Weissstrasse.'_ Three S's in a row! What are they, Swiss or snakes? I don't understand why they don't like to use a ß for two S's." Gilbert said.

"The Swiss Germans phased out the Eszett, we must be right on the north border." Ludwig remarked, examining the strangely spelled sign for 'white-street.' Off from the side of the sign dripped a huge icicle. Some childish whim urged her to touch it.

Gilbert had noticed it too. "Feel, I'll pay you ten marks if you go lick that icicle."

"Silly Gilly. You haven't got ten marks."

"Howbout' ten _Franks!"_

"You haven't got those either!"

"I will soon enough!"

It wasn't long until they found the tavern, the usual yellow-white stucco painted oxblood red. The outside was deserted, shutters closed, but the gravel path to its front showed evidence of use. It was on the outskirts of the village in a snowfield and the pineforest loomed a hundred meters away. A worn wooden door with an outdated poster advertising the Sylvester celebrations marked the entrance. Feliks knocked and the poster swung away to reveal a hidden opening. A crass, roughly accented voice greeted them with about as much amiability as the little slot slamming roughly open. Angry amber brown eyes glared out. "Who the hell are you?"

"We were like, told to come to a red tavern in this town." She could almost hear the Pole add _At least I hope this town._

"Well you got the passcode? Who told ya, smartass?"

A certain Prussian barged his way to the front. "Your mother."

_"Hey!"_

Different voices. "Hm... you don't think they're the ones he told us about, do you?"

"Justa' let them in already!"

"Look at their clothes."

"Bringa' _him_ here. He'll know."

"Not until we know they're safe."

Footsteps. "Is this right?"

"He described them as a..." the crinkling of a paper could be heard. The voice slowed, as if reading from a sheet. _"A pale vampire looking motherfucker, the Aryan marble statue Hitler would go gay for, a faggoty sounding Pole with a fine haircut, and a motherbear Magyar with an attitude._ "

"Hmm... Seems accurate enough."

The door swung open. Three people with copper hair stood in the threshold. One grumpy, two happy. There were others behind them, but they dissipated back into the room. The smallest of the three bounded forward, leaning up on his toes.

"Hi Ludwig Beilschmidt!"

Ludwig staggered back, pushing the assailant off of him. His eyes revealed a grave offense. "And _who_ are you?"

"Che vergogna! I'm Feliciano Vargas! You don't remember me? I pickpocketed you and you punched my face in! But the lady was so nice and gave me some money and that's why Grandpa is happy to help! Oh, I remember it like yesterday!"

"That is _Sie_ to you, Italian. I do not remember us being on a firstname basis. You shall address me as Scharführer Beilschmidt."

"Feliciano, don't talk with that Mangiacrauti. He's a jerk!" the other darker one said.

The older third man cleared his throat and the talking stopped. Wordlessly, he guided the four northerners and two Italians deeper into the building. There was a near empty bar in the front. In the back behind some potted trees, she noticed a wide door with another slot in it. A secret backroom where she suspected the real action took place.

"Why are you guys dressed like that now?" Feliciano said, trotting birdishly, attentively observing the guests.

"I told you uniforms are'a not a problem today Feliciano, they're friends on the inside." the older nameless brunette man said to the brothers soothingly.

A lone man was slouched over the bar, his hand on a drink, back towards them. A rifle hung by its strap over the stool. Slitted green eyes observed them through a veil of long wavy yellow hair. He set the drink down with an audible clink. "I was waiting for you bastards to show up."

"Captain Zwingli!" Eliza blurted.

"In the flesh," the man said with gruff warmth, smoothly rising from the bar. "Allow me to introduce to you all to a colleague of mine. He prefers that his name remain unknown to foreigners because of his leading role in some local organizations. For all intensive purposes you may address him by the pseudonym _'Rome.'_ I gather somehow you've encountered the man's progeny when on a mission in Vienna. He has a house up on the mountain well inside the border for you four to reside at."

"Is not'a much." the older man said, smiling earnestly. "It used to belong to a mercenary who died the other month. But it should suffice. You'll have to pay me back for it of course, but after you find work that shouldn't be too hard. I'll give you a few weeks to get settled in first. Might'a be a little cozy for the four of you, though."

"The size will not remain a problem. I will depart tomorrow morning." Ludwig said. There was a glint in Gilbert's eyes. An angry sort of glint.

Quick to counteract the rudeness of the males Elizabeta spoke up. "Thank you very much, Mr. Rome. This is very charitable of you. We'll be sure to make our presence as least burdensome as possible."

"Nothing too much for a pretty lady and her brave friends, Miss." Rome said royally.

Zwingli slammed his hand on the wood impatiently. "Well what are you waiting out here like strays for! Let's go in the back! I want to check on Lili."

"What're they doin back there, Cap? I hear music." Gilbert said.

"Rome's throwin a party, dumbass!"

She realized the Captain was actually serious. Feliks giggled, flipping his hair smugly. "Cap, no offense, but I don't think you know how to throw a real rebel party given your background."

Rome paced in front of the door. "Sure, _I_ do! And you four are my honorary guests! Hold up now- Here's the new not-fun part. Zwingli: no guns in the secret room."

"What!? My Sturmgewehr is an attachment of me!"

"Then amputate it. I don't need another _last time."_

Grumbling, Zwingli leaned his rifle on the wall outside of the back room. Tenderly, as one would a baby.

Sensing a potential problem, Elizabeta quietly tapped Gilbert. Figuring it out, Gilbert slipped her his pistol. She concealed it underneath her clothes. They were unlikely to check a female for it.

Rome swiveled, crossing his arms. "That goes for anything you three have also. Lovino, check Pole and Paleface. Feli, pat down Blondie."

Smiling innocently, Gilbert raised his arms as Lovino searched him for weapons. "He's clean, 'cept a crazy knife. But fee all got knives."

Ludwig's gaze was icily searing, his baritone warning just audible enough for her to hear as Feliciano approached him. _"Touch me and I will snap your neck."_ The Italian spun away, and she heard nothing from him confessing Ludwig as armed.

Gilbert paced up to the nearest Italian. "So this is a bar, right? Got any smokes? A beer?"

"German barbarians. You'll drink wine here. It's our very own, made from our vineyards back home. You can have that, or you can guzzle down some rams piss." Lovino sneered.

Gilbert smiled lazily. "Sure, wine."

Rome and Zwingli led the way into the back room. There was a full bar affront a myriad of bottles sparkling in the light of the smoke-filled air, as well as a second door to the outside. Thirty people were dancing or drinking at the tables. Some cheered automatically in welcome when the four entered, not having a clue who they were. An amber colored tile oven ruled the center wall, bathing the room in the dry heat that radiated off the ceramic squares. She wanted to ask Zwingli about how they had escaped on the river. But the Swiss made a beeline for the other end of the room. He had left Lili under the supervision of some women and was swift to reassert his protection. Rome was happily dispensing free drinks to everyone over the age of fifteen.

When no one was looking, she discreetly slipped Gilbert back his pistol. He inserted it inside his now-buttoned uniform, nodding. "You know, you're pretty clever."

When they were walking to a pair of empty barstools a stranger patted Gilbert on the cuff. "Great SS disguise!"

Gilbert was smiling wildly, looking around the room, his arms spread.

"Isn't this just great? That Italian runt is serving everybody pasta. We're not going to be attacked by wild Russians or wild animals. And think- _think_ Elizabeta! We could sleep in _beds_ tonight! Not in the gutter or in the woods! I daresay it-" he looked around at the free flowing alcohol, a big silly grin hanging from his ears. "I might just be too happy to get completely smashed tonight!"

Elizabeta decided then that she was happy too. The fruity scent of wine fragranced the smoky air. Her stomach was not trying to recover whatever minimal amount of nutrients lay in its own lining by digesting itself. She was warm. Never in any barrack in any part of camp had she been as frighteningly cold as she was last night.

Two small glasses appeared, brimming with a bloodred liquid. Rome winked at the two young runaways from behind the counter. A little celebration wouldn't hurt. Elizabeta and Gilbert clinked theirs merrily together.

"Prost!"

"Egészségére!"

Feliciano was taking turns sliding his fingers across the worn piano in the back, filling the smoky room with the rapid choppy glides of swing music, accented elsewhere by a fiddle and an accordion. It reminded her of the underground clubs back home. Feliks had perched on the edge of the piano and started crowing a song to it, many gaudy women quickly flocking to be his disciples. Ludwig was sitting stiffly off to the side. Some girls had tried to bother him too. But they figured out that he was not up for fraternization. Or at least the smart ones; Feliciano once attempted to bother him with offers of food. Ludwig, who had not eaten in a full day, accepted the pasta and then callously dismissed the Italian.

Gilbert elbowed her from her observations, a standard shit-eating grin plastered on his face. " _So,_ Hitler and Göring are discussing on top of a radiotower in Germany after Stalingrad. Hitler says to Göring, "We need to broadcast something to really make the German people happy." So Göring replies "Well, why don't you jump!"

Elizabeta snickered at the joke. "I got a better one. St. Peter said that in order to atone for their sins, all of the world leaders would have to stand in a lake of mud in purgatory. Roosevelt's part of the lake is shallow, up to his calves. Churchill is wading up to his fat waist, and Stalin can barely keep his square chin from sinking under the muck. Surprisingly, Hitler is only up to his ankles."

"How!" Gilbert blurted.

"Stalin was wondering the same thing! So he leans over to his fellow dictator and asks 'Dolf, comrade, how did you land that sweet spot?'"

"'Don't breathe a word to anyone,' whispers Hitler, 'but I'm standing on Mussolini. _'_ "

She was only aware of Zwingli making his rounds from his laughing. He slipped onto the barstool beside them and Lili too. "You two ever been to a Swiss movie theater before? We used to show German propaganda movies as _comedies!_ God, the whole place would go into a frenzy every time someone said 'Heil Hitler!' One time they had to close the picture everyone got so hysterical!"

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, inclining his head. "So Cap? What happened on the boat?"

"Well, you see the noble Swiss tourists and their wily fishermen guides managed to slip away by virtue of their outstanding intelligence."

"Of course." the Prussian ceded, absolutely no sarcasm whatsoever.

"I just feel a little bad."

Gilbert's ears pricked. He set the glass on the table. "Who got shot?"

"Hm? No, I feel bad for the dog."

"Huh?" Elizabeta mirrored.

"A big shepherd dog was with the Germans when they boarded us, sniffing around. But the Vikings had their own white pup trained as well any soldier. She pranced up to the big brute and started flirting with him. Nazis tell him to get the bitch to stop or they'll shoot her. Køhler says she doesn't understand German, so the Nazis give him permission tell her to knock it off in whatever tongue it takes. Big mistake. He starts jabbering on in Danish. The only thing is, he's not telling her to stop. He starts screaming something _else_ at the top of his lungs."

"What?" said Gil.

"Swiss, high German, upper German, French, Italian, Romansh- hell I'm a walking language dictionary and I'm not even old. But I don't speak Danish. The Fin had to tell me that he gave codes to the crew to jettison a few knives and papers they could be arrested for. Then Mathias called the SS a bunch of bloodsucking German perverted beach tourists who fuck rotted pig snouts instead of women to their oblivious faces."

"They suspect you of anything?"

"Sure, they must have! But whatever it was they didn't find it. After searching for an hour they got on their boat and headed back down the river to Ulm."

"I was hoping you could tell me a better story, but I'm glad everyone made it out okay. Send Mathias my respects. As for us walking through the mountains... well, we _survived_."

Zwingli frowned. "You've gotta stop speaking like that if you're gonna make it here in my country. Your high Prussian talk makes you stick out like a sore thumb."

"I speak my language just fine. Better than you, in fact." Gilbert said stoutly.

"There you go doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"You pronounce the pronoun 'I' incorrectly. And actually everything else."

Not a native speaker herself, Elizabeta did indeed notice Gilbert's accent. It wasn't incorrect German, it was merely telling that he came from very far north and east. He hardened his ch's into k's, softened his g's into j's. It was less prominent in Ludwig. Roderich's pronunciation was soft yet throatful, somewhere between Ludwig and Zwingli, but if Roderich did not want her to understand him, she was sure he could make it so. Zwingli's dialect was so bizarre that unless he made the effort to speak standard German, she could not comprehend him at all.

"Eliza, I pronounce my I's just fine, don't I?"

"Uh..."

"'I.' Not 'Ich.' Not 'Isch.' Certainly not your fishhead 'Icke!' Just pronounce it _'I_.'" the Captain returned.

"Well I'm sorry I'm not a cheese-smelling yodeling cowherd like you."

"As you should be."

"Maybe we should have just taken you over for the purpose of making _you_ all speak normal." Gilbert said.

Zwingli smiled wistfully, swirling his drink. "Ah yes, too late. Shame about that."

Lili was watching all this, the youngest person in the room had no idea what to do in this company. Quiet until now, the littlest Swiss had never spoken. "May I try some wine, brother?"

"No, you may absolutely not try some!" the Captain thundered, pulling his arm away. "Come Lili, let's go speak with Rome." Lili was staring fleetingly at Gilbert as the captain directed the girl away towards better influences. Rid of the elder Swiss, Elizabeta decided it was time to do some dragging of her own. She clasped Gil's hand in hers and started stepping towards the dancefloor. Gilbert was hastily taking his hat off at the counter, yelling back at some people nearby to save their spots.

"Care for a dance?" she cooed upon arriving, raising her hand facetiously, as if she were the boy.

"Oh and I suppose you'll lead too?"

The Prussian's hand was hot on the curve of her back, his white rectangular fingers locking around her slender tan ones, and they danced. Very close, in what would be considered promiscuous anyplace but a suspiciously stained tavern in the mountains. His movements were wide, smooth, and fast. Whatever military drills he did endowed him with excellent footwork. He tolerated no awkward teenager nonsense from her, which was fine, for neither would she. Elizabeta was not a clumsy dancer. She knew she was not some voluptuous latin cat that Feliciano or Lovino would have lusted after, but not bad. Her boyish youth had at least fitted her with a sense of coordination.

The song climaxed and he flung her as if she were a ragdoll. She careened past him, his weight adding more momentum that she had ever had practice with. The woodgrain of the dancefloor ballooned into more detail than she ever cared to see, and she braced her calves for the collision with the floor. But his hand materialized underneath her and caught her, her one leg flying into the air, the action breezing her green dress above her knees. Her torso was bent parallel with the ground. Panting, he smirked at her.

"You beast." she whispered tauntingly up into his face.

Someone in the crowd cat called. Several people had begun to watch them. She felt for the flower in her hair, her heart soothing to find it still in place. Feliciano came around with more pasta and the pair decided they had things other than dancing to do.

Elizabeta noticed a lone small body in a pink dress slip up to Gilbert's side, perching tentatively on a barstool. Her knuckles curled around the edge of the stool and her black buckled shoes hooked beneath the horizontal wooden piece. Elizabeta smiled in greeting. Lili looked down bashfully, intimidated. Her bluer green eyes darted quietly to Gilbert. "Mr. Gilbert?"

Gilbert's left arm shifted on the tabletop, bringing the wine to his lips. "Yeup?"

"May I try some of your drink?"

"No. It's..." Gilbert paused. He didn't seem quite sure how to explain alcohol to child. "It's evil."

Elizabeta suppressed a laugh. From a distance, Feliks was watching with amusement.

"Evil?" Lili whispered.

"If you drink too much of it, it will make you feel sick and stupid." Gilbert explained.

"Everyone is having some though. Why would you drink something if it's bad?"

"That's because I'm strong enough." Gilbert replied smoothly.

"Am I too weak?" she asked. The girl's tone was genuine.

"Tell ya what, kid," Gilbert exhaled. "I'll let you try a sip. And if you have a second sip, I'll let you finish all of mine."

"That's very generous. Really?"

"Would I lie to you? Drink up." he said warmly. He slid her the wineglass, the dark fruity liquid sloshing long after the glass had stopped moving.

Lili examined the glass carefully in both hands. Her tapered fingers delicately held it and slowly tipped it into her mouth. The elder Zwingli had noticed by now from the other side of the room, and his eyes were wide and his face was white with outrage. His hand kept reaching at his side, as if searching for the rifle he left outside.

Lili's placement of the wineglass on the stained wooden counter was announced by a humble clink.

"Good? Have another sip." Gilbert prompted.

"I...No!" she squeaked.

"You won't?" Gilbert asked slowly, arching silver eyebrows.

"It's _disgusting!_ I won't have this again _ever!_ " Lili gasped.

Pretty soon everyone on that side of the back room was laughing. Zwingli's face was still white for a while, until his lips slacked and he started chuckling loosely too. He paced over and started patting Gilbert on the back.

"You're alright, soldier. You're alright!" he congratulated. He knocked loudly on the bar, and a drink appeared. He slid it to Gilbert and raised his glass to the smoke-filled, music-filled air. "Another for Fritz!"

"Prost!" "Evviva!" "Santé!" "Egészségére!" "Pozdrawiam!" a rainbow of tongues toasted. Sans a young Swiss girl, who was blushing merrily, glasses jutted into the warm smoky air.

Feliks sauntered before Eliza then, his hands free of any beverage. He bent his knee until they were at eye level, then he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckle lightly. His grinning peridot eyes, veiled by yellow-brown lashes and a laughable mask of humility, flashed up to meet hers. "Héderváry Elizabeta, may I have this dance?"

Elizabeta looked at Gilbert. He seemed disappointed, but closed his eyes in approval. "Have her home by eight," he rumbled in his most fatherly voice.

"Mr. Gilbert, can I sit with you until Ms. Elizabeta gets back?"

"Sure, sweetheart." Gilbert crooned to the out-of-place child. He cocked an eyebrow at Elizabeta jokingly. _Come back soon, you have competition._

As soon as the words rolled over Gilbert's teeth Feliks was dragging her away towards the area cleared of tables. Feliciano noticed his friend and cheerfully started another fast tune. She quickly discovered that Feliks was a far superior dancer than she or Gilbert. The boy danced a Polka while grinning and prancing, lips moving soundlessly to words of a song, staring at her with an exaggerated look of false love in his eyes -as teenaged girls did when dancing with each other. She was certain the only reason she wasn't stepping on his feet was because he had predicted exactly where she would misstep.

He raised his hand connected with hers, inviting her near. "Now, I bet you're thinking the real reason I asked you out here."

"I had a feeling you didn't just want to dance." she mused thoughtfully.

"Correct!" Feliks said, spinning her at arm's length. When he pulled her close again his voice dropped to a whisper. "We're on a secret mission."

"Oh?"

"Yes. To tilt all the picture frames in the room. Drives Ludwig crazy." Feliks said, his green eyes lilting mischievously to the lonely blond sitting at a table on the fringe. "Just don't let him see you do it. Feli came up with the game. You in?"

"Sure!"

"There's your first target over there. I bet, three minutes after, his German instincts will kick in, and he'll storm over and fix it."

"Alright." she said, eying the mentioned picture frame on the wall as one would a piece of prey. It was large and light, likely able to withhold a high degree of tilting. Certainly she would be able to tilt it enough to catch the German's attention almost immediately. "If he fixes it in less than three, you steal me and Gilbert a slice of cake from Feli to share."

"Deal."

As was custom, Feliks broke from the dance then. The only other partnerless female around was a plump old woman, who appeared quite pleased to have a dancepartner as handsome as Feliks. She said something Switzy to him, to which Feliks just smiled dumbly, taking her hand.

Elizabeta wove through the dancers, bobbing between tables until she approached the wall with the pictures. They were aged and weathered from being in such a smoky room. Her framed target was a sub-par watercolor map of the world. It was pierced in random places across Europe and the pacific, as if by a drunkard's throwing darts. She ducked behind a table and a standing couple, adroitly pressing the frame at the corner with her two fingers. As it approached a 20 degree angle she slowed down, testing how much it would withstand before swinging back to its position.

The nearby door swayed open and even bootclicks could be heard coolly rolling like distant thunder behind the cheerful prancing of Feliciano's soft leather shoes.

"Hey effrybody! I brought in some new friends! They're'a dressed just like you too!"

"What'r ya waitin for? Bring 'em in!" Rome sang from behind the bar, polishing a glass with a white rag and snapping the towel in the air.

Almost there, 25 degrees.

"Indeed." an unfamiliar male voice rolled with casual easiness. "A round of drinks for a few new partiers?"

It was then that Elizabeta bothered to glance up from her task. Ten armed blacksuited men fanned out to block the exit of the room behind a leader, a gleaming dovehead sword on his hip.

The noise of the men and women in the room ceased. First went the piano. Then the laughing. A silence assumed its place and there was an absence of glass being placed on the tabletops as people slowly turned their heads towards the men in the room. Her lifted finger hesitated above the frame. There came a sudden brilliant suspension of time, like the interval between the last stroke of an ax and the felling of a tree. There was a halcyon stillness when neither party moved. The only thing that stirred was her picture frame, the pierced and ruined world, sliding languorously back to where it belonged. The moment it did, she saw the SS simultaneously raise assault rifles.


	49. Chapter 49

**-Elizabeta Héderváry-**

There was no warning. No 'We have identified five criminals in this room and by order of the German Reich place the building under arrest.' There was no meddlesome press here to report the deed. It was a game to them.

The first person who bolted out the back door left his blonde hair swinging in his wake. Clever boy, Feliks was.

It was Captain Zwingli who ruptured the silence, speaking the last words she would understand. "Everybody run!"

Swirls of color. Swirls of noise. A window shattered. Clattered. Hissing. A seated swarm roared awake like a tsunami from the tables and stampeded in the opposite direction of the men. Others less smart hid beneath tables. A larger body crushed her. Walls. Door. Fear. She remembered where she was now. She was in the gas chambers.

Shouts rang out in a rainbow of tones and tongues, none of which she understood. As every sense she had sparked into overdrive, the animal overcoming the human, she felt the comprehension of speech melt from her brain's focus. A language that yesterday she thought she had been fluent in was rendered nothing more than harsh backwards screeches.

"Feuer!"

Popping sounds.

"Rennt um euer Leben!"

"Lauf!"

"Erschießen!"

The cry of a young girl split the air.

"Hilf mir!"

"Scappate!"

A loud pop sounded by her ear, muting the screams. Figures lashed in translucence, exaggerated by the curvature into flares of form and movement. A flash of pink pinstripes. At one end of the room loomed a coal-colored monster, a rolling and undulating mass of back, spitting hot fire with cold soulless discipline. Behind the detached duty predatory mirth was veiled in its twenty blue eyes. A black boot crashed down, and the glass shattered, icily slow and then the impossibly fast return to real time, fragmenting into a glittering tiny universe on the floor.

Pain jabbed under her ribs. Blunt cold pain, not sharp and hot like a cut. Good pain. An instant later something threw her. There was a flash of red black and white.

"Mein Gott! Was machst Du?! Lauf!"

Another deafening pop, this time fired from somewhere very near to her. An arm of the monster collapsed, but the rest of it did not notice. Continuing with the momentum of the shove she was racing along the stampede of too many bodies in too small a room. Instinct driven towards the cool air and away from the smoke and cacophony of sulfur and black powder. It was the chambers. The other bodies were her protection. And like dominoes they fell.

The door breached and she saw white ground and black sky. She smelled blood and pine. She heard screams. Others spilled out like minnows into the night. Instinct roared that she needed to leave the open field. She needed darkness. The forest.

The great white eye watched coldly. High and huge in the sky, illuminating their plight to the uncaring heavens. Lucky, lonesome thing. He thought himself above the quarrels of the living. Staring at it she felt an intense jealousy.

She made the mistake of looking behind her. The monster was in the field now. It was no longer a single unit, parts of it staying in the building. Of course, it knew its prey would be herded out. Predicted it. Like a game.

She was vaguely aware of a something else grabbing and pushing her. It had seized her arm in an iron grasp with hard marble flesh as white as the snow. Eyes as red as life in an artery. A second skin as black as death. It pulled her away from the swarm and continued to growl and bark in its snakelike tongue.

"Wir müssen hier weg! Ich muss Feliks und meinen Bruder finden. _Du_ musst zu den Bäumen rennen. Einverstanden? Hörst Du mich? Hallo!? _Elizabeta!"_

Her name.

In that word a note of clarity struck above the din. Amidst the chaos, like the eye of the storm, it became clear to her then. The barrier between man and monster dissolved. Between human and animal. From flesh to machine. From name and number. The epiphany, the paradox of human life manifested itself in her recognition of that word. Whether a human being was an animal like any other or something more. She was animal of body. A delightfully sinful product of evolution that required blood and sex. But her humanity longed for more than food and mate. She was not a beast doomed to die with something else's teeth at her throat. She was more. The sides of animal and humanity were not conflicting parts, an angel whispering in one ear and a devil in the other, but inseparable parts of the same whole. She felt what all humans felt, but choose to search for different in ways. She longed to belong. To have purpose. To love.

"Gilbert..."

A gunshot cracked the air.

"Did you hear me?" Gilbert roared breathlessly. "You need to get out of here!"

The firing had stopped completely for about one minute. Then the gunshots resumed. Most horrifyingly it was no longer the wild gunfire of an assault. It was the even volley of a slaughter. Step, step, shot. Step, step, shot. Like someone walking down a row of people. She glimpsed back to see the swarm of some who hadn't escaped in time being shepherded to line up shoulder to shoulder on the tavern wall. Gilbert wrenched her to face forward with a curt tug.

"I've been around these enough to know that you don't want to stick around! Run! Get to the trees!"

She stopped him. "Where are you going?!"

"I'm going to make sure we four are out okay! Lili and Vash if I can!"

"I saw Feliks run. That promise you made to protect the Swiss doesn't count now!"

Gilbert shook his head violently. "I don't care about promises. Take this!"

He handed her his heavy knife. It was too big for her wiry working hands. As long as a forearm. More akin to a sword than a knife. In her bony fingers she was a fool to ever refer to the massive shard as a lowly knife.

He told her to run, but Elizabeta would not run. Conceal herself at a distance, yes, but she would not be leaving without Gilbert and Feliks. She hid herself in fringes of the pineforest. And for many terrifying minutes she waited as she was told.

She heard someone running into the forest by the tree she hid behind. Masculine breathing reverberated the dense cold air. She tripped him with her foot, using the momentum to momentarily counteract his strength and used her forearm to crush his windpipe and pin him to the tree like Mathias had done to her. His knees were folded so he was lower than her. It was one of the SS.

"Don't you feel any remorse? Anything at all for the people you've killed?" she whispered harshly into his face.

He looked her cruelly in the eye. "How do you feel when you burn your garbage?"

She felt her sleeve fall down from her left forearm. She saw the SS's glittering pupils contract as his white scleras expanded. His bottom lip fell. "Mother of the Gods... It's a _Jewess_!"

"Shh German swine. Shut up."

She felt his chest expand as he desperately took in an explosive breath. His throat flashed a vulnerable white in the moonlight as his head lurched towards the tavern. "IT'S A JEWESS! HERE!"

Elizabeta raised Gilbert's dagger firmly in her right hand. It grinned white like a hungry smile in the moonlight, and the filthy SS did not utter any more.

This was ridiculous, a pang of guilt chastised her. She was terrified. But Elizabeta was above such primitive emotion. She did not will herself to hide here until everyone was dead. She was of no use to her friends this way. The weight of the steel dagger swung in her hand as she ran towards the light of the field, lengthening every other stride and flecking the white snow red in thin curving arcs like the flick of an artist's paintbrush.

She burst from the trees and the huge moon bathed the field and the tavern in blue white light. She pitied it now. The virgin moon would never feel love. Never pain. Only a longing to belong. Utter helplessness. The beauty of life was mortality. The terror when everyday could be the last.

The moonwashed walls of the pub were splattered in a grisly black gore that refused to accept the light. Dozens of blue footprints surged across the snow into the inklike cover of the forest. A massive shepherd dog was tied to a post outside the tavern, howling along with the gunshots. SS sig runes gleamed silver on his collar. A few SS were in the clearing, most were still routing people inside the building. Some non-SS were in the field too, all in wild stages of action. Her eyes strained to decipher any familiar forms.

Vash had regained his rifle and was firing at the Gestapo from behind the corner. Lili would have been instructed to run away in the forest as Eliza had. Vash fired valiantly at them, but he was alone. His position was noticeable. The SS had noticed his sniping and were teaming to surround him. A look of indecision and shame crossed his face, and in a break in the barrage Vash too bolted for the trees. She knew Feliciano was inhumanly swift in the face of fear. Feliks had ran at the beginning and would be safe as well. Gilbert and Ludwig...

The coruscation of white light on silver hair identified Gilbert. He was charging like a mad bull at the unsuspecting older SS with a decorative sword affixed to his wide hip. Faster than she had ever seen anyone move. Streaking like the shadow of a whiplash in the night. Gil's bulletless pistol swung uselessly in his left hand.

She thought she saw Ludwig. He was far away.

The SS with the sword was aiming a pistol at Ludwig's skull. The same SS Gilbert was about to crush into the ground. Gilbert was trying to save his brother.

The old SS stood no chance against the oncoming collision. Gilbert was young and strong. Athletic and decisive. Lean and cutthroat. The night was his blanket and the earth his pillow. He had been tempered with the cruelest test life could give: survival. None of these men dressed in clean pressed black shirts with a bed to sleep in had borne half the challenge in civilization.

But the man turned. And it was no longer Ludwig who was in the sights.

For just a second Gilbert saw it. His run seemed to slow. There was a gunshot that screamed louder than any other and Gilbert stopped on his heels.

She cleared an object in a horselike leap, caring not as to whether it was a log or a body. She bolted fast as her legs would allow her. Gilbert's shortsword was locked in her iron grip, warning anyone nearby against clumbsyness.

The SS leader turned back to where he was facing. He cursed at the time wasted, at his original target no longer where it was. He stalked back into the fray, paying the stupid running girl no mind.

She crashed to her knees in the snow. Gilbert was on his back, his arms spread at his side, his shockwide eyes staring up at the blackstar sky. Her fingers quickly felt for his pulse. He jolted.

"Ludwig." Gilbert gasped frantically. "Where is he?"

She felt her jaw slacken in relief and her eyes flicker, her expression betraying that she did not know. Before she could say the words Gilbert knew, he seized the closest part of her he could from the ground. "I thought I told you to get out of here."

And this time it was Elizabeta that pulled him up, grasped his arm and fled with him to the darkness. They stopped a hundred meters into the thick curtain of forest. She would have gone farther but Gilbert decided that they would be stopping. She felt his fingers slip from her palm, his red eyes flash pleadingly as his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed panting in the snow, his long legs sprawled beneath him, his hand clutching at his shirt.

"Sorry." he panted.

"Lay." she commanded, with a fearful but stern mechanicallness. They would wait here. Feliks and Ludwig would know to find them in the forest.

Gilbert obeyed. She helped him get comfortable, positioning themselves so the tree trunks allowed them privacy from the slaughterfield. She did not want him to get distressed. She delicately removed his hand from the left area of his chest. His palm and fingers were stained an iron red. But the midnight black fabric did not betray how severe the injury was. She slackened his waistbelt and stripped away the layers of his uniform, her hands flitting like fledgling birds from button to button to display his bare chest.

The hard planes of his torso matched the color of the snow. The small gunshot wound matched the color of his eyes. It was smaller than the size of a Reichsmark coin and with no exit wound. It was located on the left of his chest towards the edge. Missing his heart, but probably not his lung.

Gilbert stared quietly down his straight nose at it for a long time, face impassive, thinking some thing she couldn't know. Only when he noticed her gauging his expression did he meet her gaze and slap on a smile. "How bad is it, Doc?"

He did not need to ask her. Gilbert knew exactly how bad it was. He was the one who had seen people shot like this before.

"I think it could use some stitches..." she trailed.

"Hell!" Gilbert whined, his face settling in an exaggerated pout. He sat up on his elbows to look down at his chest and forced a scowl, as if it were disobedient. He wanted her to laugh. To please him she exhaled an equally ingenuine chuckle. He was being forcefully cheery, and it terrified her.

She scooped clean snow with her fingers, prepared to hold it to the cut.

"Don't bother cleaning that. It's bleeding too fast." he said.

"We need to stop the shock."

"Heh, don't worry dear. I'm already there."

They had to control the bleeding. She pulled the bottom of her dress taught between her knees, then took Gilbert's dagger and plunged it into the fabric. She wrenched her arm to the left, slicing away a swath as broad as her hand. She tore the dark green fabric off along the seam, ripping away a consecutive strip from the bottom hem of her dress in a spiral. When she had a meter's worth she held it up to the moonlight, frowned, and continued ripping more.

"Easy commando, if you take off any more clothes you'll freeze."

"I'd say that's not one of your concerns, Gil."

"Sure it's my concern Eliza. It's well below zero, I can't have you catching frostbite."

She raised another strip of her dress into the light. Deeming it satisfactory, she began dressing Gilbert's wound. She folded one of the strips into a thick palm-sized square. With the second she bound his torso, tightly fastening the pad in place. Gilbert stilled to make it easier for her to work.

"Any advice on how to best do this, Herr Soldat?" she asked. She leaned him gently upwards as she wrapped the strip around his back. As his chest compressed, the hole made a quiet sound like biting an overripe apple.

"Nah, we could have used women like you on the front. You're a real pro, Liz."

"Good to hear."

She finished the dressing. Or at least as much as she knew how to do. She tried not to look, and the dark piney fabric made it easy not to notice the black blood that seeped through the bandage.

"S'cold."

She had never heard him complain about the cold before. She closed his shirts and overshirts over his chest, in her careful haste making sure all of the buttons matched up. She knew he would like them to look neat.

"Does it hurt bad?"

"Nah. Just a lung. I got two of those." he assured her.

"Breathe slow. It should trick your heart into beating slower and staunch the blood loss."

Gilbert blinked in agreement, though already knew that, and rested with slow easy breaths. For many minutes they lay in the snow in the forest. The only protection from the cold were themselves, and they quickly let the soft animals of their bodies curl against each other. The silver wind ghosted through the pine boughs above. Looking up, she saw the huge moon soak everything in white light. But looking left or right, the forest dimmed the light into a deep blue and eventually black. Except for one direction, where if she squinted just right between the pines, she could see the field. She stayed vigilant in the soldier's stead, waiting, watching, listening.

He looked up at her soberly. His tone and his eyes had shed their facetious mask.

"Listen to me Elizabeta. They're going to start combing the woods soon, if they haven't already. You need to get out of here. I was talking with Vash after Feliks took you. That house is just through these woods. Follow the river south up the hill, walk in the creek to hide your tracks and scent. They won't follow you there, its too inside the border."

"Only if you are strong enough to walk with me."

"Please Eliza. I'll feel much less stressed when you're safe."

"When this clears I need to find you the town doctor."

"Ludwig will know what to do with me. Go."

"I refuse."

"My little dove, use your wings. Fly from this hell while you still can."

"You can't make me go."

And she was right. Gilbert was in no condition to make her do anything. Gilbert's lips parted angrily, but his sad eyes were pleading. He wanted her to be safe. She wanted him not to be alone. And deep down he did not want to be alone either.

Loud footsteps punctuated the sylvan stillness, and she was suddenly reaffirmed in her choosing to stay. The crash of heavy military boots cracked between the trees, not light civilian shoes. The long strides of a full grown male. She swept the dagger from the snow into her fingers. She crouched, viperlike, streamlining the blade underneath her chest, poised on a hair trigger to lunge like an adder.

The man who crashed through the trees looked as she expected. Tall, muscular. White skin, black suit, yellow hair, red band. Aryan blue eyes stared out from the black silhouette. She fiercened her grip around the dagger.

"Ludwig." Gilbert's strained voice announced.

"Finally! Gilbert you fool! What are you doing here? About time I found you I-!" His sentence cut off as he registered the throat-clogging scent. Gilbert's blood had spread to stain the snow in a small lukewarm haze around him. The German's boots halted just in the end of it. The wound had long since conquered her makeshift bandage.

"How bad?" Ludwig gasped. "How bad is it?"

"Pre'y bad."

"Who did this to you!? Did you take a bullet protecting _her_?"

"No. It happened when I was protecting _you_."

Ludwig's brows rose in shock.

"One of the SS recognized you. An old one with a sword. He knew who you were. He was going to shoot you."

"When I went to the officers' club to try and find people to help us find you..." Ludwig shook his head. "He figured us out. They tracked us here. That _dog_ _print_..."

"Ludwig, please. Take Elizabeta and get out of here. Feliks if you can, too."

"No." came the younger's cool, emotionless response.

"Ludwig! You've always been the most logical of all of us! Do not disobey me now!" Gilbert snarled.

"I am going back there." Ludwig pulled his pistol up to eye level, the metal siding of the gray gun flashing as he examined it. "I still have your bullets."

"Whose side are you even on! Our side loses, and now you want to go join the SS?! Just shoot a few civilians, blend in, and sneak out with them?!"

"Ludwig, please don't make Gilbert scream. You're making his heart speed up."

"You said it was an old man with a sword? He was their leader?"

"Ludwig, this is the last time I'll ever give you an order. Do not go back there. My dear brother, I beg you. Don't go back."

Ludwig stared down through his lashes at his brother bleeding his life out on the ice. Then, weapon swinging from his gloved hand, he pivoted on his heel and left.

Before she could stop him, Gilbert raised his torso up, painfully inhaling a mammoth breath. "Ludwig! Don't you _dare_ walk away from me like this!"

No answer came. She strained her eyes. She didn't even see Ludwig's silhouette. Didn't even hear his footsteps.

The stricken betrayal that resonated in Gilbert's eyes as he closed his lips speared her heart. He could not believe what she had come to know long ago. That Ludwig was beyond their help. He closed his eyes for several seconds and breathed. When his eyes reopened, they were looking only at her, kneeling at his side.

"I don't think we're gonna be needing those stitches, Liz."

"I know Gilbert, I know." she whispered, her voice hitching.

They had understood for some time the wound was not recoverable. Gilbert felt for the iron cross on his throat. With trembling hands he removed it, holding it up to the moonlight. His thumb swiped over the center of it, as if he were trying to wipe away a stain. She realized for the first time that raised in the center of the medal was a tiny, black swastika.

"I had a dream. I accepted this could happen to me."

Every pump of his heart only willed the blood to escape faster. Each traitorous beat of the unknowing organ only sent more of its host's life spilling onto the snow. Snow that cared not how precious the substance was that it received. But she willed the mindless hardworking little thing not to stop. Gilbert's fingers unfurled to drop the iron cross to the ice.

"Eliza, am I going to hell?"

"Look at all that we did, Gilbert. All of the people that we helped. We- we got Feliks out of camp, we saved Alfred's life, and you spared the Russian even though you didn't like him. Roderich saw the light. You put your own life on the line for Al's brother, and Vash and Lili would still be trapped in Austria, and..."

She pressed her chest against his, shielding her arms around him. She did not burden his lips with a kiss, she only wanted to feel his heat on her. For him to feel her warmth, too. Her voice cracked when it lowered to a whisper. _"You saved me, too."_

The shallow red lake had pooled in the snow around him, every few seconds sliding lazily forwards on the snow. Gilbert's pupils slid to her as his fingers drew lazy circles in it. "Blood... It's so beautiful, isn't it? So red and vibrant and warm. It embodies life itself."

"Yes," Elizabeta said quickly. "It's very beautiful. As long as it's _inside_ you."

"But you can't see it that way."

Elizabeta stared into his sanguine ruby eyes, wine-dark crimson like the glowing embers of a campfire on a cold winter's night. She already had her perfect red. "That's fine."

Smiling like a bored child playing on the muddy banks of a river, his fingers continued to swirl languidly in the blood. "They say red is the color of love."

 _Also the color of death,_ her thoughts supplied.

"Elizabeta Héderváry, I love you."

At his words she felt her hands suddenly stiffen over the rag, willing to plug the hot red life in with her hands if she had to. "Gilbert, please stop. You're making me afraid."

"I'm so sorry Eliza. I wanted to finish this alongside you."

"My God, I love you Gilbert."

A low rumbling sounded somewhere in Gilbert's trachea. He was laughing. "Miracle one of us didn't kill the other back in the old Auschwitz days."

"We may be insane, Gil. But that's just how I liked it."

"We were always dirty cold and hungry. But I always loved doing this with you."

Running footsteps. Always, it was hearing before seeing outside their little circle of moonlight. For a moment the two lovers' eyes met in confusion at their familiarity. Blood dripped from a cut on his arm, smattering his face and disheveling his hair. He ran forward, crouching before his brother in the snow. "Gilbert!"

"Lud, you're back." Gilbert greeted. His voice was cracked, but the emotion in his small smile was grand. "How runs it?"

"Gilbert, please! I won't let another Beilschmidt die...Not because of me."

"Lud, your arm..."

Blood trickled from Ludwig's left side. But he awarded it no attention.

"It's fine, my brother. Fine. It's nothing! Never better. The Major just slit me with his sword. No arteries severed. I shot him dead. I killed him. I killed him for you, Gilbert."

Gilbert's smiling eyes were not focused at his returned kin's injury. They were looking at the bloodied armband on Ludwig's left bicep. At the spinning black cartwheel in the white moon in a red sky that was halved by the same swordstroke.

"You, you killed the Major?"

"I shot him dead." Ludwig said. He laid the slain commander's sword on the snow before Gilbert as proof. But Gilbert paid little attention to it.

"I'm proud of you Ludwig. I was so afraid. So afraid you wouldn't _see_..."

Ludwig leaned close to his brother. His voice was grave and low. "Gilbert, do not leave me tonight."

"It's ironic. You always said it. You cared about your country and your brother. I'm just sorry losing one was the only thing strong enough to make you realize the fault of the other."

Ludwig did not respond verbally. He tenderly slicked Gilbert's hair out of his face. Gilbert's might have chuckled. He might have coughed. His eyes were not as deep a red as they usually were, but more of a pink color. His alabaster skin was as bloodless as marble. He was shivering.

Swift light footsteps sounded. Trottish and equine. "Guys. Every civilian at the tavern ran or is dead. We need to get out of the area before- mój Boże. Gilbert."

Feliks appraised the situation, his mood quickly changing. But he was wiser than to interrupt with tales of SS. "What happened?"

"I got shot." Gilbert said with a grin, his casual bluntness attempting to carry his usual humor despite how his voice cracked with pain.

Elizabeta knelt on his left. Ludwig on his right. Feliks stood. A part of her, like how animals could feel a coming storm, sensed it was near. With a shaking hand Gilbert reached up to touch the little Edelweiss flower in Elizabeta's hair, nestling it carefully into place. He respected Ludwig to need no physical caress. He looked up at Feliks first and nodded. Feliks slowly blinked and nodded his farewell back. Then the Prussian looked to both of the people kneeling at his flanks.

"Th-they say in my country that a person dies twice. There's when their heart stops beating. And then, there's the last time someone says their name."

"I won't forget what you did. What we stood for, Gilbert." she resolved, voice quavering, tears starting to fall.

Ludwig was sitting at his side like a loyal dog. He had taken off his gloves to hold Gilbert's white hand in his. Gilbert smiled.

 _"_ Auf Wiedersehen." Gilbert murmured. In German there were no words for goodbye. Only 'Until I see you again.' He stared up for a while at the sky, at some vista past their peering faces she could not see. He saw a star, he knew not if it was Polaris or Sirius or something else. A relaxed smile flexed on his pale lips. Slowly his eyelashes, white like featherdown on the wings of a bird, veiled over his eyes and he exhaled for the last time. She knew then he was gone. Gone somewhere she hoped there were no wars.

The only man she loved was dead.

He made her learn to trust a monster. She taught him the virtues of peace. He wrought her from their hells, and together they withstood another on their journey to their vision of heaven. In their days as refugees she had never felt so alive as she did alongside him. He was a porcelain doll with tears on his eyelashes and blood on his yellow teeth.

"Brother. Wake up. Gil..."

"Ludwig. Elizabeta. We need to leave." Feliks stated with calmness. He saw what Elizabeta and Ludwig's grief had blinded them to. Soldiers were afoot. Following trails of feet and drips of blood.

"Gil, please. Don't leave me now Brother. I need you."

"They're here! Eliza, Ludwig, let's go!"

When Ludwig didn't respond, Feliks started pulling on him. But the traumatized German paid no attention to the weaker man. After all he had done, he could not accept that Gilbert was dead. His universe had shrunk to him and his brother. Feliks cursed in Polish when he realized he would have to choose whose life to save. With a desperate tug he tried to yank Elizabeta into reality.

"I'm not ready yet!" Eliza protested.

"We have to run!" Feliks urged.

"No! I won't abandon him like this!"

Feliks grabbed her hand. "We'll come back and bury him."

"Feliks, let me go! Please!"

"I won't let Gilbert's sacrifice be in vain. _Come!"_

"Gilbert!" she shrieked. With a longing look back, her last glimpse being Ludwig kneeling at Gilbert's side as SS closed in, Feliks ushered her towards the safety of the darkness.

* * *

_"What do we do with him?"_

"Hey. Soldier! Are you SS?"

"Gil...I..."

"Look at him. He's obviously one of the traitors from the Auschwitz escape Braun was talking about."

"About fucking time we ran into those bastards. Faulkner and Jäger been back there for ten minutes trying to ID their bodies. Don't think any were the targets."

"Hey Blondie. Know if your pet kikes are alive? Or they dead too?"

The leveling clicking of many rifles sounded as they surrounded Ludwig. A man on each side pulled him by his arms from his brother on the snow. Ludwig requested something lowly.

" _Shoot_ you? No, we're capturing you. No sense feeding you in jail. Consider yourself assigned to a prisoner unit. We'll send you to fight in Russia."

A thousand thoughts flashed in Ludwig's eyes. "No! This is not how I wanted it!"

"Look at that. Man thinks this is about what he wants."

"Stop! Please! This is not how I envisioned it!"

"Get the handcuffs."

One of the guards appeared behind him, restraining his arms behind his back. He clipped one of the gleaming cuffs around Ludwig's wrist. Ludwig struggled.

"I'd rather die!"

"You are without that mercy. Come quietly."

With the roar of a cornered beast Ludwig attacked. He bucked against the man who restrained him, sending him reeling away. Another came, and when in range Ludwig grabbed his collar, thrust him forward, and hooked a crushing knee underneath his ribcage before tossing him to the night. A third approached, and Ludwig sent a huge fist whirring into his face. There was an audible crack of his neck rolling, and then the SS fell defeated to the snow at Ludwig's feet.

"My God! He's gone mad! Knock him out!"

Another had grabbed a rock. He slammed it against the back of Ludwig's skull. For a few interminable moments Ludwig stood frozen, a black obelisk against the white, his knees locked beneath him in defiance. Then the man, ever undefeatable, collapsed unconscious in the snow.

"Take him away. We're done here." the SS's words faded.

The January night was icy on Elizabeta's bare shins as she ran. But she and Feliks fled unpursued. The woman heard no bootsteps following them. Never saw shooting men. Heard no dogs singing for their blood. The only sound was the soft closing click of handcuffs, echoing through indifferent mountain air.

* * *

 


	50. Epilogue and Author's Note

**-Ludwig Beilschmidt-**

Ludwig looked at him with deep blue eyes, eyes that were liquid rather than ice. Human, rather than hawk. He pressed his lips together and sighed. "Shoot them. All of them. Order the men to aim well."

She was nearby. Perhaps she was an it, he had always thought of her as a she. Death was a better alternative than what the men would receive otherwise.

"But sir, we hardly possess ample ammunition for our own forces to use. We cannot waste it on Russian prisoners-"

"Shoot them."

"Sir, the Auschwitz camps are only a few kilometers away, surely it would be more efficient to bring them-"

"I gave you an order, Lieutenant! Shoot them now or I'll shoot you now!"

"Yessir!"

Voices and boot clicks broke Ludwig away from his memory. Broke him from the rumbling roar of retreating Panzers and the guttural cries of dying men. From the lightning strike of artillery hitting the ground. Of the cold Russian sun and her man-killing gray muddy tundra. Returned him to the cold cement floors, the vertical iron bars of which he stared. To the Gestapo and his muttered prayers next to him -no, wait- they had taken him three darknesses ago. The voices were not in German, he noticed, but in faint echoing English. Two voices, but three pairs of feet. Two were fast and strong, confident and powerful, one set of steps larger and sloppier than the neat and even other. The third was barely perceptible, quick and light footed like an arctic fox. He had learned well how to read footsteps in the last weeks. There was reason for many to pay attention to them. Ludwig knew he should fear these steps too, for he knew his name was on the list, but he did not cringe when he heard them.

"What did they want him for?"

"War crimes."

"What was the sentence?"

"Death by hanging. Rumors were that the request by firing squad was turned down."

"Ah."

There would often be footsteps. A lock clicked and a metal door creaked open. A few words exchanged, a click of handcuffs being placed on, more footsteps which faded to nothing. And somewhere far away, another widow to join the millions was made.

Ludwig straightened his steel gray uniform. They had given him another on the front. Several medals and tattered ropes hung from his shoulder, they meant nothing to him now. He wasn't entirely sure how he got them. But he would look presentable.

Two men striding abreast turned the corner. One tall, one short. They were accompanied by a young man in a green suit who was leading them down the hall. _Laurinaitis_ , he had learned the others called him. A bit timid and jumpy he was, perhaps he had not made it well with one of the prisoners at one point. One of the fairer guards, although he did not seem to like Ludwig much at all.

The two unfamiliar men stopped outside of his cell. Ludwig tried to place a reason for their visit but he had been unaware of the exact date for some time. The little one was frowning in study as he examined him. Upon probably deciding this specimen was the most krautish German he had ever seen, his expression reverted to its previous taughtlipped smugness. The larger held several envelopes. He stared at Ludwig too, adjusting a pair of spectacles as he leaned closer, studying him closely. Eventually he nodded to himself in confirmation of some fact.

Ludwig smiled. "Hello officers. I thought it was not for a few days yet?"

The dirty blond and the lighter blond glanced at each other. Then back at Ludwig. "He doesn't recognize me!" he exclaimed in English. "The potatofaced bastard doesn't recognize me!"

"Well it's not hard to forget an ugly mug like yours." muttered the other.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones! And _you're_ Ludwig Beilschmidt!"

Alfred Jones? He bothered to remember very few American names. He felt his jaw slacken in recognition. The crashed bomber pilot they had found in the forest along the road after leaving Auschwitz. They had encountered his Doppelgänger brother in Vienna. This was the American Gilbert had spared.

"Ivan owns this prison now. Matt told me you speak English alright. Is that true? Art here don't understand German."

Ludwig stayed silent for a moment more. If he remembered correctly, mat in English was like a rug, but smaller and usually of lower quality, often used for wiping shoes outside before entering a home. And he was certain he knew what art was. Perhaps his English had gotten rusty, or he was confusing it with some other speech.

"Yes. I speak English." Ludwig answered in the mentioned language.

"Ah. The barbarian speaks a civilized tongue, does it?"

Ludwig thought this was an appropriate time in English to use 'he.' His lips parted in confusion at the smaller man when the American cut him off. "Hey now, ain't gotta be so mean to him, Kirkland. He's not gonna hurt anybody now."

"Oh? He looks sad? I guess you like him because he didn't _bomb_ your whole country. You were living luxuriously up in an airplane, while we were alone in the maelstrom for years. Well, perhaps I should be nice. Cheer the old chap up. Yes, I'll tell him a joke! _Two Nazis walk into a BAR..."_

They had jokes like this in his country. Ludwig looked at him expectantly. When the British uniformed one did not finish his sentence, an uncomfortable silence ensued. But the German was not alone in his misunderstanding. Jones and Ludwig exchanged a mutually confused glance before looking back to Kirkland.

"What's the rest of the joke, Art?" Jones eventually asked.

"They walked into a _B.A.R._ Browning Automatic Rifle. They died."

"HWAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I get it! That's hilarious! I got one! What's the difference between a German and a shopping trolley?"

"What?"

"A shopping trolley has a mind of its own."

Their laughing merriment ricocheted between the white cinderblocks and steel bars of the hallway. Laurinaitis was standing behind them, looking down and fiddling with the brass keyring in his hands. The other inmates in different cells were starting to look up. But of course they did not defend themselves. They never did. They just brokenly took it. And Ludwig did too.

The defeated man's expression sobered. He knew why these men had shown. The day at headquarters was boresome. This barred palace was a zoo, and there were animals to taunt.

"I spoke with Elizabeta and Feliks." Jones said.

Ludwig coughed. _"What?"_

"I visited them. In their house in Switzerland."

So they did not come to taunt. "How?"

"It was a clue that Gilbert gave Matthew that led me to Switzerland. My brother was very adamant that something be done. Cocky albino bastard thought ahead, that's for sure."

"Were they alright?"

"Oh, sure! Physically. But they left not long after the war ended... One to Budapest, one to Warsaw. I can't imagine why they'd want to go back. I guess they just both felt they had unfinished business."

"Sanctuary means nothing if you cannot spend it with those whom you care about..."

"You're right." It was the Brit who spoke.

"The girl." Ludwig said quickly. "Elizabeta. Was she with anyone, do you know? A pale one with blackish hair?"

The American's brows furrowed in honest befuddlement. "I didn't see her with anyone like that, no."

Ludwig sighed in relief. Those two were still alive.

"Well, how you been Beilschmidt? How's Prisoner of War life treatin ya?"

"There is little to look forward to, I believe your expression is."

He expected him to laugh at the gross understatement, but the American seemed sincere, in some small way. Jones sighed. "It's better this way. You could be walking down the street in sunny Buenos Aires. Bringing groceries home to the wife and kids twenty quiet years from now. When you're shoved against a wall with the cold barrel of a gun rammed against the back of your skull, police yelling in a language you haven't heard in years. Shuttled off to some prison in cold Europe for crimes you committed a lifetime ago, for some judge to read you all of the things you've done and call you dead."

Ludwig grunted.

"What would you say?" Jones accused. "If that happened? You were only following the orders of your superiors, right? It's an honorable tenet, to follow orders."

"No."

Jones arched a questioning brown eyebrow.

"No... Well, yes I was following orders. But I was no draftee of the Wehrmacht. I take responsibility for my actions. I knew what I was doing. I don't want your _pity_ , Amerikaner."

"But did everyone know?"

"I heard what your General Eisenhower did. If any Germans did not know, they do now. He made all of us in the nearby towns over twelve clean up the camps. Bury the mountains of corpses. The women and children, even."

"At least this way..." Jones trailed. "At least you can't hide."

Ludwig agreed solemnly.

Kirkland leaned against the opposite wall between two cells. Jones began to pace the corridor, hands folded behind him. He lifted his strong chin when he spoke, looking straight ahead rather than at the prisoner. Each step was silently mirrored by Ludwig's pale eyes.

"Germany could deal with humiliation for years. For decades. For a century. You'll be dead and dust, and your great grandchildren will be told to feel guilty for what you did. Germany's people will be repentant to death of this war. And still, they will never be martyrs for their suffering."

Ludwig knew not if the wisdom was said in victory, warning, or even sympathy. He learned already the consequences of his actions affected not only himself. And he despised that the world worked in such cruel ways.

"I have some things of yours. Picked em up at the office." Jones said. He shuffled out the orange-tan envelopes, curving them between his thumb and fingers to stiffen them. He slid them through the bars to Ludwig, who accepted them. "A letter from some Italian who saw your name in a newspaper. Some life insurance documents." he explained.

"Thank you."

"Laurinaitis. It's time. Let him out."

The guard stepped forward as ordered and started unlocking the door to his cell.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving your life." the pilot replied calmly.

"And why the hell would you do that!? Are you ill? Have you any idea what I've done?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." Jones said.

"A Trojan must have told him that." the Brit muttered derisively, rolling his eyes.

"I already talked to that Russo who wardens this place. Everything is in order."

"I... I do not need this favor. I appreciate your benevolence, but you must understand, there is not anyone for me to go back to." Ludwig reasoned.

The door swung open.

Ludwig backed away from the bars. He did not want the loathsome guilt of survival added to the guilt he already endured. He understood what he deserved. He had endured a punishment worse than that of death. And still it was not enough. Be it he ended in Russia by how he wronged the Nazis or executed here by how he wronged the allies it did not matter.

"The choice isn't yours, Beilschmidt. I owe your brother a life. I ain't a saint doing this out of the kindness of my heart. But I _do_ know what happened after the last war. If the world needs anything right now, it's forgiveness. And I want you to go out and make a difference. Rebuild your country. Yourself. Into something better than was there before."

Ludwig wasn't entirely sure what to say. He felt no massive pang of epiphany or debt. To his disappointment the only dry words that came to his mind were _I suppose I have to suffer more._

"Honestly, I didn't like you much then. Back when you tried to have me, Ivan, and Matthew killed. But people change. Times change. Chances are given and mistakes are made. You could be the last survivor of some old, dying generation of ideas. Or the first young pioneer in a new, better, accepting era of greatness."

"My change was made before you came to me today." Ludwig said hollowly.

Laurinaitis had stopped fidgeting with his hands. He looked up at Jones. "Um, excuse me, the Pole named Feliks. You wouldn't happen to know his last name, would you?"

"What?" Jones snorted. "Got yourselves a hot date?"

"N-no I just wanted..."

"Do excuse him. I'm afraid I didn't catch his last name though. Alfred?" the Brit prompted.

"Nah, sorry. Heard it in passing, but..."

"Łukasiewicz." Ludwig said.

"Gesundheit!" Jones added happily.

Ludwig might have rolled his eyes at the American. But the ecstatic smile that shot across Laurinaitis's cheeks left him in a mildly better mood.

"I'll escort you out." Jones said. "Art, you comin' with?"

"No. I have business to attend to."

As he left Kirkland sent him a glare. A chilling glare that made him stop walking. A glare that very clearly told him he did not deserve to live.

Jones's level shoulder brushing his instructed him to continue out of the jail. To his surprise the sergeant walked at his side as they passed the inhabited cells.

"What'll you do?"

"I guess I'll go home to Berlin... what's left of it. Tie a few loose ends. Let my mother know I am still alive. See if anyone has eaten the dogs and Gilbird yet."

"Christ's sake! You never wrote her? Well don't bother visiting! Broad's probably died of a heart attack by now!"

He had stopped writing home after the war started, when he had ran out of pleasant things to say. He shook his head, not feeling particularly guilty. "Gil was worse with writing."

"Is where you lived more in western Berlin, or eastern Berlin?"

"I suppose more western. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing."

Ludwig realized that he would have to find a job. A place to stay. That he was one insignificant molecule in the floodtide of a million displaced veterans with nowhere that wanted them. There were so many problems to combat upon returning home he had not considered. Death had solved all of them.

The interior building gates passed overhead. His eyes adjusted to the sun they had not felt in so long. The courtyard expanded around them and they walked along a cement path and beyond the barbed wire fences he saw the color green. He observed the watchtowers on the perimeter of the grounds come into detail. A tall man stood in an olive American uniform inside the window. Perhaps it was merely the shadows that made the figure appear so dark. Ludwig did not intend to stare, for he quickly averted his gaze to avoid being impolite, but his staring must have been obvious. For even Jones the brick had noticed.

"Aww _shucks!_ " the American exclaimed, his lips drawn in laughter. "You've never seen a nigger before!"

"Not outside _Birth of a Nation_." Ludwig admitted. He was surprised by that word. In some small way he had wished the American different from that.

"You've seen that movie?"

"Of course. Silent ones are especially easy to translate."

"You should see their tails." Jones said nonchalantly.

"Their _whats?"_

"Their tails! Don't tell me you didn't know black people had tails? They only come out at midnight. One time in Belgium they had to desegregate us and this guy was sleeping in the bunk next to me, his tail was hanging off the edge of the mattress. Coolest thing! Long and furry like a monkey's!"

"Certainly they do not have tails..."

"Of course they do!"

"Does the brown rub off? If you scrub at it roughly?"

"Sure does! Underneath that, they're purple!"

Ludwig realized late his ignorance was being made fun of. Jones chuckled as he walked while Ludwig watched the cement. Eventually the American halted before the final open gates of the prison and Ludwig stopped too. Expression maturing, the young pilot turned to face him. "This is where I gotta let you go. Viel Glück."

 _Good luck_ , he had said. Alfred tipped his hat and smiled, in a farewell Ludwig found strangely cowboyish, but he guessed gentlemen still did in his country. "Life is a gift, the most precious gift that any man can receive, but one that no one can keep forever. It's up to you to make the most of it."

Kirkland's gaze haunting him, his brother's gaze haunting him, Ludwig stepped through the prison threshold. The grasses rustled in the slow wind, and birds too young to remember the tremors of bombs laughed outside the gates. In his whole life he had never felt more alone.

* * *

"Ludwig!" she called, her speech pitched high in greeting. He saw her shift on a lichen speckled boulder. When she could see him clearly the voice slowed to veil a taunt _._ "It wasn't easy to track you down, you know."

"I'm sorry, Elizabeta."

"What do you have? Oh no... You had to bring _that_?" the Hungarian scolded.

"It is how he would have liked it." Ludwig defended plainly as he approached. But as he turned his head away from the woman, he closed his eyes and smirked. He lifted one of the six beers he had brought and with a subtle swing of his wrist set it on the earth next to the grave marker. How he would have liked it indeed.

A modest faded gray wooden cross sprouted alone from the moist spring earth. The area was secluded as it had been, surrounded by pine trees and flowered grass, everything sunken beneath the white faces of the Swiss-German alps. An iron cross was affixed on a chain, hanging like a necklace over the shoulders of the wood, likely something Elizabeta had fashioned. A rain rusted dagger lay on the ground in front of it. White Edelweiss flowers cluttered the surrounding earth in front of the simple grave, likely also plucked and arranged by the woman. A few colored ones he guessed were from Feliks. The grass was green and the snows had receded to the peaks of the mountains. The earth was dark with spring melt. Ludwig noted that the feminine colors of the flowers were properly accented by the powerful amber of the bottle he placed.

They were both looking healthsome. At least considering the current situations of their countries. Ludwig included. He was not at his antebellum weight yet.

Feliks was dressed sharply. A dark suit that fit immaculately on his shoulders, but seemed almost out of place on the goofy teenager he had known. Feliks looked different, his face angled with the maturity of a man in his early twenties, his long blond hair neatly combed and his face cleanshaven. But his eyes held the same optimistic sparkle.

Elizabeta was the one to organize the reunion, writing on the papers the only information she had: their full names and their home cities. Her letters ended up on a notice board with thousands of others, combed through by everyone missing a loved one, and passed along by those who knew a relative. The text asked them to return to this spot on this date. The vilage had not been easy for Ludwig to find.

Elizabeta attired herself in traditional Hungarian clothes. White frills spilled out from the bottom of her black dress and her sleeves. A dark mesh veiled her hair. Vibrant red and green flowers were meticulously embroidered on black fabric of the bodice with more care than any village clothesmaker. She had made it for this occasion. She was even wearing a small amount of cosmetic to accent her features.

"You look nice." Ludwig said, before he had thought about it.

 _"W-what?"_ the alarmed woman stammered.

"You look beautiful. Gilbert would have enjoyed it very much."

She smiled and looked down to hide her face from him. "Thank you, Ludwig."

He realized too late that he had caused the woman to silently start weeping. For a moment he did not know what to do. He never had to console anyone before. But he knew Gilbert would not tolerate her crying now, and in a rush decided he had to do something. And in a stiff, awkward, bearish, way he held her. He did not wipe away her tears.

"I'm sorry. It's just, seeing us three together... I know I didn't know him as long as you did. But I still miss him a lot, Ludwig."

"I too, Elizabeta. I thought of him every day in Russia. It is okay to cry."

She sniffled once, perhaps uncomfortable showing weakness in front of him, and the heaves of her back ceased. The red-faced woman silently produced a medium sized picnic basket woven from wicker. She distributed sandwiches to everyone.

"You are sure we shouldn't try to kill an innocent woodland creature instead? In his honor?" Ludwig suggested, perhaps hoping for a smile.

"I have a feeling he'd like this better. Lili Zwingli made us these."

"What did you eat in Russia? Dirt and ticks?" Feliks said turning his attention to the German. He had been watching Elizabeta protectively, but perhaps decided Ludwig had performed sufficiently.

"Things of similar nutritional value. Something that might have been turnips. Mysterious gray gruel. Horse meatballs."

"What? You ate _ponies?_ "

"I _hoped_ it was ponies."

Feliks's eyes widened to dinner plates and his lips gaped into a comically mad 'o'. "How was the rest of Mother Russia, Luddy?" Feliks chided.

"Well!" Ludwig exhaled. "It were as if an amused hateful demon was watching over me and preventing me from dying. Having a damn fine time watching me suffer. The _insects_ in Russia want you dead. Do not get me started on the soldiers or the winter."

"Is it as bad as they say?"

"Six times as bad."

"I don't think you were _supposed_ to survive." Feliks snickered.

"I was not..."

Ludwig realized he had delayed his contribution. He handed a beverage to Elizabeta and Feliks. He opened the one he left at the foot of the cross. Lastly he opened his and raised it subtly to the air. "To Gilbert."

The three raised their drinks and clinked the lips of the amber bottles together. "To Gil."

No call needed to be made for silence, but it was observed anyway. The birds and insects were no longer so loud, and the only sound was a single gust of wind that rustled the needled fronds of the trees above.

Elizabeta broke it with a forlorn laugh. She slowly examined the bottle in her hand. "Heh... I remember he got really drunk in front of me once."

"I remember once Gil was so drunk at a bar on leave in autumn '44, in favor of taking a Polish whore, he decided to tell me about an absurd woman he saw at work."

"Was he actually drunk?"

"No, not then."

"We _dug_ out of camp. What was I thinking, to let him do something so overcomplicated? It wasn't a prison movie."

"He once protected Feliks, after he'd drawn Hitler's mustache on my face."

"Oops, I remember that digging was my idea."

"Come on _,_ you deserved that one Luddy."

"You _could_ have just politely voiced your complaints-"

"Oh nonsense Ludwig. _Why,_ modeling yourself after a man who chose a toothbrush mustache as his virility symbol, I thought it was quite handsome!" Elizabeta cackled.

"Well..." Ludwig hesitated. "Perhaps looking back now, it was slightly funny. Not very."

At this admittance Feliks and Elizabeta burst out laughing.

"I remember when Gilbert used Mein Kampf as toilet paper!" Feliks squealed.

"On chapter two of all things." Ludwig muttered, the ghost of a smile curling about the corners of his lips. That was the one where Hitler was lost in Vienna. Ever the poet, Gil was.

A shrill trilling cut above the background waterlike trickle of birdsong. A small blur darted into their little sunlit space in the trees like the shadow of a leaf in autumn winds, landing on Gilbert's cross. A little bird with an ugly voice. It had chalky black feathers and yellow scales cladding its legs, like a miniature version of a symbol on a flag no one flew.

Ludwig threw a crumb of bread at it, willing it to fly away. This was not the place for it.

If he did not know better, he would have thought the doltish thing had rolled its eyes. But that was impossible, because birds' eyes were fixed in their sockets and only capable of looking in one direction at once without turning their heads. The featherball looked at the crumb from its perch, and then lifted its beak at Ludwig contemptuously, as if the animal deemed itself too noble to accept handouts.

Ludwig paced forward to shoo the scavenger away from the grave. Which it did. It darted away to cling to the pine bough above Elizabeta, and then flitted in a few noisy wingbeats down to the rock the woman sat upon.

It was playing a game it would lose. It had no idea the man it was antagonizing. Ludwig stalked towards the boulder, refusing to be beaten by a bird. As he approached the thing scooted closer to Elizabeta, covering the stony surface in a few short hops.

"Watch out: Ludwig Beilschmidt, scourge of songbirds." Feliks narrated.

"Shut up."

By the time Ludwig had looked back from Feliks's distraction the smug thing had its yellow talons curled around the heel of Elizabeta's thumb, perched on her raised hand. She was laughing, feeding it a shred of her sandwich with the other, which it gladly accepted.

"He likes meat." the woman observed.

"Why is he not afraid of you?"

"Because I'm not ugly and scary like you, dummy."

"It matters not to him that I'm 400 times its weight and you're 300 times its weight. We are both scary. He should be flying away." Ludwig said logically, sitting next to her, staring at the unbelievably stupid thing that had clamored up to her wrist.

"Here, give him some."

Ludwig held a sliver of meat towards the bird. It did not accept.

"Ohohoho! Got a bit of an attitude, do you?" Elizabeta crooned merrily, stroking her fingers behind its sleek head. The avian leaned into her touch and closed its eyes. Ludwig was accosted by a pang of something that might have been jealousy.

"Stupid, stupid bird. You're going to get caught by a predator with that tame attitude." Ludwig warned it.

Feliks could be heard in the background. "You're the genius talking to a bird."

Ludwig attempted again to offer the bird a meal. At this peaceful gesture the irrational thing sprung off the woman's wrist and glided away, claws held beneath it, this time glossing back to perch on Gilbert's cross.

"He's afraid of you. That's why."

"He is not afraid. He knows full well I won't hurt him. He _'s toying_ with me."

Ludwig followed it, kneeling slowly before the grave, careful not to disrupt the flowers. It waited patiently for him until he was only an arms length away to continue its game. The bird had bunched its legs to spring but it did not launch into the air. It shot forward, but like a dog on a leash halted and fell short. In its arrogance its claw had tangled in the iron cross necklace. It struggled for a few seconds in the grip of gravity before falling, suspended by the chain between the ground and the arm of the cross. It tried to right itself but to no avail. Exhausted, its thrashing ceased. It hung on the string, dangling uncomfortably upside down by one leg.

"That's what you get."

The bird did not answer.

Ludwig carefully lowered his hands underneath the cross. He gingerly freed the avian's ensnared foot from the noose of the tangled necklace, which he placed back on his brother's grave. He cupped the bird and stared down at it. It felt strangely hot and vulnerable enveloped in his huge hands, which were unused to cradling something so delicate as a life. It had a quick heartbeat like the pulsing of a flame. It was curled on its side, leathery legs folded in front of one thick palm, its ruffled wings pressed against the other. The feathers were soft like the cape of a moth against his calloused skin. Then it started to wriggle, peeking its narrow head through a gap in his fingers. Ludwig loosened them, and it climbed to sit on his wrist. The man stood slowly, as not to startle it, and raised his wrist to appraise the creature at eye level.

He knew it was stupid. But a part of him could not help but be hopeful.

Concealing it in his fist until it was directly in front of its head, Ludwig presented it with the food. After a moment of deliberation, the bird decided its rescuer worthy and admitted defeat to its little game. In a swift movement it snatched the meat from Ludwig's palm which it jerked above its throat and quickly scarfed down. Ludwig reached out to stroke its teardrop shaped head, which it allowed. His fingers ghosted with childlike reverence above the soft feathers between its wings, not daring to harm it. Then they made eye contact, it staring at him straightly as it perched on the blue veined upturned white of his wristbone. His eyes stared into the bird's unblinking perfect round obsidian spheres, reflecting the barest hint of burgundy in their black depths. For a long while he searched its gaze for instruction. But the surface was glass, and all it permitted him to see was himself.

The bird lowered its head in what almost appeared to be a bow, its long regal tail fanning out behind it, and displaying its glossy wings. But the sideways look it gave him whispered of jest despite the humility of its posture. He felt its weight shift. Understanding, Ludwig thrust his arm into the air. In a flutter of wings its talons unfurled. The black tips of its wings met on the downstroke, and raised powerfully upward. It circled once above them at the level of the treetops, its sharp head peering down between broad wings. Ludwig's nose lifted to the air to watch its black silhouette float into the away into the heavens beyond, free to determine its own destiny. And though he was without wings, he knew man was capable of the same.

* * *

FIN

* * *

**_A final author's note._ **

_Flight of the Valkyrie_ was published on December 28, 2012. It was completed a year and a half later, on May 31, 2014. In March 2018, it was revised for style and historical accuracy. In print, it is 600 pages long.

January 27, 1945. Auschwitz is liberated by Soviet troops.

April 30, 1945. Adolf Hitler, faced with the treason of his closest consorts, commits suicide in his Berlin bunker after being surrounded by the Red Army.

May 7, 1945. The Nazi Party surrenders unconditionally to the Allies.

September 2, 1945. After the use of the Atomic Bombs, the Empire of Japan surrenders, ending combat in the Second World War.

.

This is the last chance I'll ever get to talk. So I shall say all that need be said.

Firstly, congratulations reader. You made it to the end of this. Thank you.

_I'll start off with some commonly asked questions_

**_Why did you choose for Gilbert to die?_ **

As for I choosing Gilbert to die, but nobody else... Hetalia is an allegory. After WWII, the name of a certain German province is no longer on the map. Seeing the heart of German militarism as a start of two world wars, the allies sought to eradicate it. But it was the actions of the Nazis that produced the final shove to Prussia's demise. There are those who would interpret Prussia's end as East Germany being reunified, but I do not see it this way. There are plenty of German states that consisted of East Germany, but none of them East Prussia, located many kilometers away. There are references to his death in chapters 16, 33, and 38. I knew from the start Gilbert would not be making it out of my story alive.

**_Are you a Neo-Nazi?_ **

No. There is nothing more disgusting. I am interested in the ideologies from a historical standpoint, but anyone who embraces them is a fool.

I want to clear up any sort of confusion on the matter of Nazism and SS. Perhaps if you are young, your history teacher will mention SS in class, and you will think of this story and feel a pang of sympathy. At the risk of clumsy writing I constantly tried to point out that Gilbert did not consider himself one anymore and was basically just wearing their clothes. At many points Ludwig is even too accepting. The SS were the worst they came. I made sure it was them that killed Gilbert.

_Characterization_

Although suffering its share of victimization, the German state of East Prussia was as much indoctrinated into Nazi ideals as the rest of Germany. East Prussia was not good while Germany was evil. The point of difference in the two brothers' beliefs is not to depict the differences between the two lands, but to show that not everyone liked Nazism. There were those people who supported it, and those who didn't. It is to depict that no one is purely evil, their actions are a desire to fulfill what each party thinks is the best way to achieve what is right. It is these perceptions of what is good, and how to achieve it, that differs throughout humanity. No child grows up wanting to be the bad guy.

In Hetalia writing for a historic time, a writer must choose in every situation whether to craft a character's reaction based on their cannon personality written by Himaruya, or on the actions of their country at the time. I had a particularly difficult time doing this with Feliks and there are still things I would change with him, since anti-semitism and Nazi sympathies were strong in Poland as well as resistance. Secondly, considering the personalities of Gilbert and Ludwig, it would have been much easier to make Gilbert the sadistic Nazi and Ludwig the sane one. I've seen this done before in fanfiction, but I never really liked it because in a historic sense the East Prussian federal state had much less to do with the rise of Nazism than greater Germany did. I thought it unfair to sire so much blame to the small region when more of what the Nazis did fell under the actions of the whole of centralized Germany.

_Interpretation_

Usually I wouldn't point this out, but I know some of us fanfiction goers are not looking deep into the meanings of fan writings as that annoying English teacher might have asked you to do. _(Class, what was the significance of the blue color of the curtains in this scene? To portray the sad mood of the protagonist, of course!_ Well, not really. The curtains were just blue. _)_ Rather than leave you unsatisfied, I'll say this.

The story's title is primarily in reference to the dream in chapter 16 Gilbert has. Elizabeta was the one who came up with the idea of traveling to Switzerland and Gilbert's primary realization for starting life over, leading to him making the ultimate sacrifice to achieve what he wanted. Throughout this there is the theme of grayness between the safe black and whites. Gilbert considers himself fairly religious. Where as to Ludwig, God is merely a syllable to shout when he is angry. The third aspect of mythology is the wild card, ignoring either extreme black or white of the spectrum. Also, although not especially reinforced or intended, connections could be drawn to the 1944 Valkyrie assassination plot on Hitler; and Richard Wagner. The rest I'll leave unmarred with my commentary.

_Inaccuracies_

As with every historical piece there are inconsistencies. I am aware of several of mine, which exist either because I learned of them while the story was ongoing, or omitted them for plot purposes. Personally I think they are relatively minor and take away from the fun of the plot, but I did compile a short list. If you're interested, send me a PM anytime asking and I'll happily copy and paste you it. If you just mention wanting to see the list in a review I probably won't send it unless I find another reason to reply.

_What I'd do different_

I originally planned for this fic to be much shorter than it originally was, only reaching about 18 chapters. So it made sense for the romance between Gilbert and Elizabeta to flower as quickly as it did. If I did this over I'd have it continue to develop into the action based hemisphere of the plot. But ultimately, romance is not the focus of the story, so I don't find it terrible. There are parts of FotV I'm proud of and parts of it I'm not, I feel in the beginning in places I succumbed to teenaged fanfiction writer pitfalls, as well as bent common sense to prevent characters from killing each other. There's some parts I aim to rewrite and many in the last months I already have.

_There are a few people I would like to extend my thanks to_

For translating the Italian of the Vargas brothers in chapters 35 and 36, I thank **ElizabethScaffie**. The creative spins you put on Lovino's language had me in stitches. For the French used by Matthew and Ludwig in chapter 38, I thank **Blogman66**. I also thank the reviewers here and there that pointed incorrect things out in other places. Most of you were guests so I couldn't address you personally, so I throw you my blanket thanks now.

 **KthePrussian,** you were a guest and I could never write you back. But since the beginning you always wrote me these fantastic giant reviews every chapter and I couldn't even thank you properly. They were great and I do that now. **Fandomfan46** , your reviews were frequent, glowing, and always brightened my day (and weeks c;) **FlamingHelmet** , the proximity of this fanfiction in its early chapters to the tale of your great-grandparents is incredible. Their journey is an epic that makes me proud to be a member of the human race. I can't help but laugh at the stroke of fate that caused you to stumble upon this story late one night. **LoveToTheCucumber** , I doubt you'll ever get to reading this note before we're both 40 years old and ruling the world. But I dedicate Mathias's appearance in this to you. Your ultra-detailed line-by-line critiques had me asking myself what you would say every time I proofread something. It was wonderfully generous of you to spend your time that way, and I learned very much about my writing I would not have on my own.

_As for some trivial author-centric information_

If anyone wants to draw any fanart or the like, that is absolutely encouraged. I'd be thrilled to see what you do, and will post a link to what you make under the story on my profile so others can see it too.

As for the future, I have a few hetalia plot ideas, but I don't know exactly what I'll do concerning fanfiction. As saccharin as it sounds, I've learned from writing this. I think I've accomplished what I wanted to, whatever it was.

For any friendly internet archaeologists stumbling upon this years from now, I'd love to hear your thoughts. This account is hooked up to my main email, and if you write me a few paragraphs I'll write back. And if not, I can be satisfied in knowing that perhaps I educated someone in this world we share a bit. Even if I'm embarrassed of this story by now. An older wiser me will read whatever you have to say.

It's been a fun journey. I'm not sure why I feel sad while I reread this parting note but I do. I wish you well and here I say my goodbye. Alas, _until I see you again_.

CelticFeather.


End file.
